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The Conquest of America: A Romance of Disaster and Victory, U.S.A., 1921 A.D.

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Title: The Conquest of America: A Romance of Disaster and Victory, U.S.A., 1921 A.D.

Author: Cleveland Moffett


        
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                        THE CONQUEST OF AMERICA

            A Romance of Disaster and Victory: U.S.A., 1921 A. D.

                   BASED ON EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY
                OF JAMES E. LANGSTON, WAR CORRESPONDENT
                        OF THE “LONDON TIMES”


                                  BY
                            CLEVELAND MOFFETT

                                 1916

                 AUTHOR OF “THROUGH THE WALL,” “THE BATTLE,”
                      “CAREERS OF DANGER AND DARING,”
                                 ETC., ETC.




[Illustration: ABOUT NOON ON THE DAY OF CAPITULATION, MAY 25, 1921, A
DETACHMENT OF GERMAN SOLDIERS MARCHED QUIETLY UP BROADWAY, TURNED INTO
WALL STREET, AND STOPPED OUTSIDE THE BANKING HOUSE OF J. P. MORGAN &
COMPANY.]



_Thus saith the Lord, Behold, a people cometh from the north country; and
a great nation shall be stirred up from the uttermost parts of the earth.
They lay hold on bow and spear; they are cruel, and have no mercy; their
voice roareth like the sea, and they ride upon horses; every one set in
array, as a man to the battle, against thee, O daughter of Zion_.

Jeremiah 6: 22, 23.


_They seemed as men that lifted up
Axes upon a thicket of trees.
And now all the carved work thereof together
They break down with hatchet and hammers.
They have set thy sanctuary on fire;
They have profaned the dwelling place of thy name even to the ground.
They said in their heart, Let us make havoc of them altogether:
They have burned up all the synagogues of God in the land_.

Psalms 74: 5-8.



CONTENTS

CHAPTER

TO MY FELLOW AMERICANS

    I. I WITNESS THE BLOWING UP OF THE PANAMA CANAL

   II. AMERICAN AEROPLANES AND SUBMARINES BATTLE DESPERATELY AGAINST THE
       GERMAN FLEET

  III. GERMAN INVADERS DRIVE THE IRON INTO THE SOUL OF UNPREPARED
       AMERICA

   IV. INVASION OF LONG ISLAND AND THE BATTLE OF BROOKLYN

    V. GENERAL VON HINDENBURG TEACHES NEW YORK CITY A LESSON

   VI. VARIOUS UNPLEASANT HAPPENINGS IN MANHATTAN

  VII. NEW HAVEN IS PUNISHED FOR RIOTING AND INSUBORDINATION

 VIII. I HAVE A FRIENDLY TALK WITH THE GERMAN CROWN PRINCE AND SECURE A
       SENSATIONAL INTERVIEW

   IX. BOSTON OFFERS DESPERATE AND BLOODY RESISTANCE TO THE INVADERS

    X. LORD KITCHENER VISITS AMERICA AND DISCUSSES OUR MILITARY PROBLEMS

   XI. HEROIC ACT OF BARBARA WEBB SAVES AMERICAN ARMY AT THE BATTLE OF
       TRENTON

  XII. REAR ADMIRAL THOMAS Q. ALLYN WEIGHS CHANCES OF THE AMERICAN FLEET
       IN IMPENDING NAVAL BATTLE

 XIII. THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLE OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA

  XIV. PHILADELPHIA’S FIRST CITY TROOPS DIE IN DEFENCE OF THE LIBERTY
       BELL

   XV. THRILLING INCIDENT AT WANAMAKER’S STORE WHEN GERMANS DISHONOUR
       AMERICAN FLAG

  XVI. AN AMERICAN GIRL BRINGS NEWS THAT CHANGES THE COURSE OF THE MOUNT
       VERNON PEACE CONFERENCE

 XVII. THOMAS A. EDISON MAKES A SERIOUS MISTAKE IN ACCEPTING A DINNER
       INVITATION

XVIII. I WITNESS THE BATTLE OF THE SUSQUEHANNA FROM VINCENT ASTOR’S
       AEROPLANE

  XIX. GENERAL WOOD SCORES ANOTHER BRILLIANT SUCCESS AGAINST THE CROWN
       PRINCE

   XX. THIRD BATTLE OF BULL RUN WITH AEROPLANES CARRYING LIQUID CHLORINE

  XXI. THE AWAKENING OF AMERICA

 XXII. ON CHRISTMAS EVE BOSTON THRILLS THE NATION WITH AN ACT OF
       MAGNIFICENT HEROISM

XXIII. CONFESSIONS OF AN AMERICAN SPY AND BRAVERY OF BUFFALO SCHOOLBOYS

 XXIV. NOVEL ATTACK OF AMERICAN AIRSHIP UPON GERMAN SUPER-DREADNOUGHT

  XXV. DESPERATE EFFORT TO RESCUE THOMAS A. EDISON FROM THE GERMANS

 XXVI. RIOTS IN CHICAGO AND GERMAN PLOT TO RESCUE THE CROWN PRINCE

XXVII. DECISIVE BATTLE BETWEEN GERMAN FLEET AND AMERICAN SEAPLANES
       CARRYING TORPEDOES



ILLUSTRATIONS

ABOUT NOON ON THE DAY OF CAPITULATION, MAY 25, 1921, A DETACHMENT OF
GERMAN SOLDIERS MARCHED UNOBSERVED UP BROADWAY, TURNED INTO WALL STREET,
AND STOPPED OUTSIDE THE BANKING HOUSE OP J. P. MORGAN & COMPANY

AS THE GERMAN LANDING OPERATIONS PROCEEDED, THE NEWS OF THE INVASION
SPREAD OVER THE WHOLE REGION WITH THE SPEED OF ELECTRICITY. THE ENEMY WAS
COMING! THE ENEMY WAS HERE! WHAT WAS TO BE DONE?

THEN, FACING INEXORABLE NECESSITY, GENERAL WOOD ORDERED HIS ENGINEERS TO
BLOW UP THE BRIDGES AND FLOOD THE SUBWAYS THAT LED TO MANHATTAN. IT WAS
AS IF THE VAST STEEL STRUCTURE OF BROOKLYN BRIDGE HAD BEEN A THING OF
LACE. IN SHREDS IT FELL, A TORN, TRAGICALLY WRECKED PIECE OF MAGNIFICENCE

THE PEOPLE KNEW THE ANSWER OF VON HINDENBURG. THEY HAD READ IT, AS HAD
ALL THE WORLD FOR MILES AROUND, IN THE CATACLYSM OF THE PLUNGING TOWERS.
NEW YORK MUST SURRENDER OR PERISH!

GERMAN GUNS DESTROY THE HOTEL TAFT

“YOU KNOW, MARK TWAIN WAS A GREAT FRIEND OF MY FATHER’S,” SAID THE CROWN
PRINCE. “I REMEMBER HOW MY FATHER LAUGHED, ONE EVENING AT THE PALACE IN
BERLIN, WHEN MARK TWAIN TOLD US THE STORY OF ‘THE JUMPING FROG.’”

AND ON THE MORNING OF JULY 4, TWO OF VON KLUCK’S STAFF OFFICERS,
ACCOMPANIED BY A MILITARY ESCORT, MARCHED DOWN STATE STREET TO ARRANGE
FOR THE PAYMENT OF AN INDEMNITY PROM THE CITY OF BOSTON OF THREE HUNDRED
MILLION DOLLARS

“MY FRIENDS, THEY SAY PATRIOTISM IS DEAD IN THIS LAND. THEY SAY WE ARE
EATEN UP WITH LOVE OF MONEY, TAINTED WITH A YELLOW STREAK THAT MAKES US
AFRAID TO FIGHT. IT’S A LIE! I AM SIXTY YEARS OLD, BUT I’LL FIGHT IN THE
TRENCHES WITH MY FOUR SONS BESIDE ME, AND YOU MEN WILL DO THE SAME. AM I
RIGHT?”




THE CONQUEST OF AMERICA




TO MY FELLOW AMERICANS

The purpose of this story is to give an idea of what might happen to
America, being defenceless as at present, if she should be attacked, say
at the close of the great European war, by a mighty and victorious power
like Germany. It is a plea for military preparedness in the United
States.

As justifying this plea let us consider briefly and in a fair-minded
spirit the arguments of our pacifist friends who, being sincerely opposed
to military preparedness, would bring us to their way of thinking.

On June 10, 1915, in a statement to the American people, following his
resignation as Secretary of State, William Jennings Bryan said:

Some nation must lead the world out of the black night of war into the
light of that day when “swords shall be beaten into plow-shares.” Why not
make that honour ours? Some day--why not now?--the nations will learn
that enduring peace cannot be built upon fear--that good-will does not
grow upon the stalk of violence. Some day the nations will place their
trust in love, the weapon for which there is no shield; in love, that
suffereth long and is kind; in love, that is not easily provoked, that
beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all
things; in love, which, though despised as weakness by the worshippers of
Mars, abideth when all else fails.

These are noble words. They thrill and inspire us as they have thrilled
and inspired millions before us, yet how little the world has seen of the
actual carrying out of their beautiful message! The average individual in
America still clings to whatever he has of material possessions with all
the strength that law and custom give him. He keeps what he has and takes
what he can honourably get, unconcerned by the fact that millions of his
fellow men are in distress or by the knowledge that many of the rich whom
he envies or honours may have gained their fortunes, privilege or power
by unfair or dishonest means.

In every land there are similar extremes of poverty and riches, but these
could not exist in a world governed by the law of love or ready to be so
governed, since love would destroy the ugly train of hatreds, arrogances,
miseries, injustices and crimes that spread before us everywhere in the
existing social order and that only fail to shock us because we are
accustomed to a regime in which self-interest rather than love or justice
is paramount.

My point is that if individuals are thus universally, or almost
universally, selfish, nations must also be selfish, since nations are
only aggregations of individuals. If individuals all over the world
to-day place the laws of possession and privilege and power above the law
of love, then nations will inevitably do the same. If there is constant
jealousy and rivalry and disagreement among individuals there will surely
be the same among nations, and it is idle for Mr. Bryan to talk about
putting our trust in love collectively when we do nothing of the sort
individually. Would Mr. Bryan put his trust in love if he felt himself
the victim of injustice or dishonesty?

Once in a century some Tolstoy tries to practise literally the law of
love and non-resistance with results that are distressing to his family
and friends, and that are of doubtful value to the community. We may be
sure the nations of the world will never practise this beautiful law of
love until average citizens of the world practise it, and that time has
not come.

Of course, Mr. Bryan’s peace plan recognises the inevitability of
quarrels or disagreements among nations, but proposes to have these
settled by arbitration or by the decisions of an international tribunal,
which tribunal may be given adequate police power in the form of an
international army and navy.

It goes without saying that such a plan of world federation and world
arbitration involves universal disarmament, all armies and all navies
must be reduced to a merely nominal strength, to a force sufficient for
police protection, but does any one believe that this plan can really be
carried out? Is there the slightest chance that Russia or Germany will
disarm? Is there the slightest chance that England will send her fleet to
the scrap heap and leave her empire defenceless in order to join this
world federation? Is there the slightest chance that Japan, with her
dreams of Asiatic sovereignty, will disarm?

And if the thing were conceivable, what a grim federation this would be
of jealousies, grievances, treacheries, hatreds, conflicting patriotisms
and ambitions--Russia wanting Constantinople, France Alsace-Lorraine,
Germany Calais, Spain Gibraltar, Denmark her ravished provinces, Poland
her national integrity and so on. Who would keep order among the
international delegates? Who would decide when the international judges
disagreed? Who would force the international policemen to act against
their convictions? Could any world tribunal induce the United States to
limit her forces for the prevention of a yellow immigration from Asia?

General Homer Lea in “The Valour of Ignorance” says:

Only when arbitration is able to unravel the tangled skein of crime and
hypocrisy among individuals can it be extended to communities and
nations, as nations are only man in the aggregate, they are the aggregate
of his crimes and deception and depravity, and so long as these
constitute the basis of individual impulse, so long will they control the
acts of nations.

Dr. Charles W. Eliot, president emeritus of Harvard University and
trustee of the Carnegie Peace Foundation, makes this admission in _The
Army and Navy Journal:_

I regret to say that international or national disarmament is not taken
seriously by the leaders and thinking men of the more important peoples,
and I fear that for one reason or another neither the classes nor the
masses have much admiration for the idea or would be willing to do their
share to bring it about.

Here is the crux of the question, the earth has so much surface and
to-day this is divided up in a certain way by international frontiers.
Yesterday it was divided up in a different way. To-morrow it will again
be divided up in a new way, unless some world federation steps in and
says: “Stop! There are to be no more wars. The present frontiers of the
existing fifty-three nations are to be considered as righteously and
permanently established. After this no act of violence shall change
them.”

Think what that would mean! It would mean that nations like Russia, Great
Britain and the United States, which happened to possess vast dominions
when this world federation peace plan was adopted would continue to
possess vast dominions, while other nations like Italy, Greece, Turkey,
Holland, Sweden, France, Spain (all great empires once), Germany and
Japan, whose present share of the earth’s surface might be only one-tenth
or one-fiftieth or one-five-hundredth as great as Russia’s share or Great
Britain’s share, would be expected to remain content with that small
portion.

Impossible! These less fortunate, but not less aspiring nations would
never agree to such a policy of national stagnation, to such a stifling
of their legitimate longings for a “greater place in the sun.” They would
point to the pages of history and show how small nations have become
great and how empires have fallen. What was the mighty United States of
America but yesterday? A handful of feeble colonies far weaker than the
Balkan States to-day.

“Why should this particular moment be chosen,” they would protest, “to
render immovable international frontiers that have always been shifting?
Why should the maps of the world be now finally crystallised so as to
give England millions of square miles in every quarter of the globe,
Canada, Australia, India, Egypt, while we possess so little? Did God make
England so much better than he made us? Why should the Russian Empire
sweep across two continents while our territory is crowded into a corner
of one? Is Russia so supremely deserving? And why should the United
States possess as much of the earth’s surface as Germany, France, Italy,
Belgium, Holland, Austria-Hungary, Denmark, Greece, Serbia, Bulgaria,
Roumania, Spain, Norway, Sweden and Japan all together and, besides that,
claim authority to say, through the Monroe Doctrine, what shall happen or
shall not happen in South America, Mexico, the West Indies and the
Pacific? How did the United States get this authority and this vast
territory? How did Russia get her vast territory? How did England get her
vast territory?”

The late Professor J. A. Cramb, an Englishman himself, gives us one
answer in his powerful and illuminating book, “Germany and England,” and
shows us how England, in the view of many, got _her_ possessions:

England! The successful burglar, who, an immense fortune amassed, has
retired from business, and having broken every law, human and divine,
violated every instinct of honour and fidelity on every sea and on every
continent, desires now the protection of the police!... So long as
England, the great robber-state, retains her booty, the spoils of a
world, what right has she to expect peace from the nations?

In reply to Mr. Bryan’s peace exhortations, some of the smaller but more
efficient world powers, certainly Germany and Japan, would recall similar
cynical teachings of history and would smilingly answer: “We approve of
your beautiful international peace plan, of your admirable world police
plan, but before putting it into execution, we prefer to wait a few
hundred years and see if we also, in the ups and downs of nations, cannot
win for ourselves, by conquest or cunning or other means not provided for
in the law of love, a great empire covering a vast portion of the earth’s
surface.”

The force and justice of this argument will be appreciated, to use a
homely comparison, by those who have studied the psychology of poker
games and observed the unvarying willingness of heavy winners to end the
struggle after a certain time, while the losers insist upon playing
longer.

It will be the same in this international struggle for world supremacy,
the only nations willing to stop fighting will be the ones that are far
ahead of the game, like Great Britain, Russia and the United States.

We may be sure that wars will continue on the earth. War may be a
biological necessity in the development of the human race--God’s
housecleaning, as Ella Wheeler Wilcox calls it. War may be a great soul
stimulant meant to purge mankind of evils greater than itself, evils of
baseness and world degeneration. We know there are blighted forests that
must be swept clean by fire. Let us not scoff at such a theory until we
understand the immeasurable mysteries of life and death. We know that,
through the ages, two terrific and devastating racial impulses have made
themselves felt among men and have never been restrained, sex attraction
and war. Perhaps they were not meant to be restrained.

Listen to John Ruskin, apostle of art and spirituality:

All the pure and noble arts of peace are founded on war. No great art
ever rose on earth but among a nation of soldiers. There is no great art
possible to a nation but that which is based on battle. When I tell you
that war is the foundation of all the arts, I mean also that it is the
foundation of all the high virtues and faculties of men. It was very
strange for me to discover this, and very dreadful, but I saw it to be
quite an undeniable fact. The common notion that peace and the virtues of
civil life flourished together I found to be utterly untenable. We talk
of peace and learning, of peace and plenty, of peace and civilisation;
but I found that these are not the words that the Muse of History coupled
together; that on her lips the words were peace and sensuality, peace and
selfishness, peace and death. I found in brief that all great nations
learned their truth of word and strength of thought in war; that they
were nourished in war and wasted in peace; taught by war and deceived by
peace; trained by war and betrayed by peace; in a word, that they were
born in war and expired in peace.

We know Bernhardi’s remorseless views taken from Treitschke and adopted
by the whole German nation:

“War is a fiery crucible, a terrible training school through which the
world has grown better.”

In his impressive work, “The Game of Empires,” Edward S. Van Zile quotes
Major General von Disfurth, a distinguished retired officer of the German
army, who chants so fierce a glorification of war for the German idea,
war for German Kultur, war at all costs and with any consequences that
one reads with a shudder of amazement:

Germany stands as the supreme arbiter of her own methods. It is of no
consequence whatever if all the monuments ever created, all the pictures
ever painted, and all the buildings ever erected by the great architects
of the world be destroyed, if by their destruction we promote Germany’s
victory over her enemies. The commonest, ugliest stone that marks the
burial place of a German grenadier is a more glorious and venerable
monument than all the cathedrals of Europe put together. They call us
barbarians. What of it? We scorn them and their abuse. For my part, I
hope that in this war we have merited the title of barbarians. Let
neutral peoples and our enemies cease their empty chatter, which may well
be compared to the twitter of birds. Let them cease to talk of the
cathedral of Rheims and of all the churches and all the castles in France
which have shared its fate. These things do not interest us. Our troops
must achieve victory. What else matters?

Obviously there are cases where every noble sentiment would impel a
nation to go to war. A solemn promise broken, a deliberate insult
to the flag, an act of intolerable bullying, some wicked purpose of
self-aggrandisement at the expense of weaker nations, anything, in short,
that flaunted the national honour or imperilled the national integrity
would be a call to war that must be heeded by valiant and high-souled
citizens, in all lands. Nor can we have any surety against such wanton
international acts, so long as the fate of nations is left in the hands
of small autocracies or military and diplomatic cliques empowered to act
without either the knowledge or approval of the people. Wars will never
be abolished until the war-making power is taken from the few and
jealously guarded by the whole people, and only exercised after public
discussion of the matters at issue and a public understanding of
inevitable consequences. At present it is evident that the pride, greed,
madness of one irresponsible King, Emperor, Czar, Mikado or President may
plunge the whole world into war-misery that will last for generations.

There are other cases where war is not only inevitable, but actually
desirable from a standpoint of world advantage. Imagine a highly
civilised and progressive nation, a strong prosperous nation, wisely and
efficiently governed, as may be true, some day, of the United States of
America. Let us suppose this nation to be surrounded by a number of weak
and unenlightened states, always quarrelling, badly and corruptly
managed, like Mexico and some of the Central American republics. Would it
not be better for the world if this strong, enlightened nation took
possession of its backward neighbours, even by force of arms, and taught
them how to live and how to make the best of their neglected resources
and possibilities? Would not these weak nations be more prosperous and
happier after incorporation with the strong nation? Is not Egypt better
off and happier since the British occupation? Were not the wars that
created united Italy and united Germany justified? Does any one regret
our civil war? It was necessary, was it not?

Similarly it is better for the world that we fought and conquered the
American Indians and took their land to use it, in accordance with our
higher destiny, for greater and nobler purposes than they could either
conceive of or execute. It is better for the world that by a revolution
(even a disingenuous one) we took Panama from incompetent Colombians
and, by our intelligence, our courage and our vast resources, changed a
fever-ridden strip of jungle into a waterway that now joins two oceans
and will save untold billions for the commerce of the earth.

Carrying a step farther this idea of world efficiency through war, it is
probable that future generations will be grateful to some South American
nation, perhaps Brazil, or Chile or the Argentine Republic, that shall
one day be wise and strong enough to lay the foundations on the field of
battle (Mr. Bryan may think this could be accomplished by peaceful
negotiations, but he is mistaken) for the United States of South America.

And why not ultimately the United States of Europe, the United States of
Asia, the United States of Africa, all created by useful and progressive
wars? Consider the increased efficiency, prosperity and happiness that
must come through such unions of small nations now trying separately and
ineffectively to carry on multiple activities that could be far better
carried on collectively. Our American Union, born of war, proves this,
does it not?

“United we stand, divided we fall,” applies not merely to states,
counties and townships, but to nations, to empires, to continents.
Continents will be the last to join hands across the seas (having first
waged vast inter-continental wars) and then, after the rise and fall of
many sovereignties, there will be established on the earth the last great
government, the United States of the World!

That is the logical limit of human activities. Are we not all citizens of
the earth, descended from the same parents, born with the same needs and
capacities? Why should there be fifty-three barriers dividing men into
fifty-three nations? Why should there be any other patriotism than world
patriotism? Or any other government than one world government?

When this splendid ultimate consummation has been achieved, after ages of
painful evolution (we must remember that the human race is still in its
infancy) our remote descendants, united in language, religion and
customs, with a great world representative government finally established
and the law of love prevailing, may begin preparations for a grand world
celebration of the last war. Say, in the year A.D. 2921!

But not until then!

If this reasoning is sound, if war must be regarded, for centuries to
come, as an inevitable part of human existence, then let us, as loyal
Americans, realise that, hate war as we may, there is only way in which
the United States can be insured against the horrors of armed invasion,
with the shame of disastrous defeat and possible dismemberment, and that
is by developing the strength and valiance to meet all probable
assailants on land or sea.

Whether we like it or not we are a great world power, fated to become far
greater, unless we throw away our advantages; we must either accept the
average world standards, which call for military preparedness, or impose
new standards upon a world which concedes no rights to nations that have
not the might to guard and enforce those rights.

Why should we Americans hesitate to pay the trifling cost of insurance
against war? Trifling? Yes. The annual cost of providing and maintaining
an adequate army and navy would be far less than we spend every year on
tobacco and alcohol. Less than fifty cents a month from every citizen
would be sufficient. That amount, wisely expended, would enormously
lessen the probability of war and would allow the United States, if war
came, to face its enemies with absolute serenity. The Germans are willing
to pay the cost of preparedness. So are the French, the Italians, the
Japanese, the Swiss, the Balkan peoples, the Turks. Do we love our
country less than they do? Do we think our institutions, our freedom less
worthy than theirs of being guarded for posterity?

Why should we not adopt a system of military training something like the
one that has given such excellent results in Switzerland? Why not cease
to depend upon our absurd little standing army which, for its strength
and organisation, is frightfully expensive and absolutely inadequate, and
depend instead upon a citizenry trained and accustomed to arms, with a
permanent body of competent officers, at least 50,000, whose lives would
be spent in giving one year military training to the young men of this
nation, all of them, say between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three,
so that these young men could serve their country efficiently, if the
need arose? Why not accept the fact that it is neither courageous nor
democratic for us to depend upon hired soldiers to defend our country?

Does any one doubt that a year of such military training would be of
lasting benefit to the men of America? Would it not school them in
much-needed habits of discipline and self-control, habits which must be
learned sooner or later if a man is to succeed? Would not the open air
life, the physical exercise, the regularity of hours tend to improve
their health and make them better citizens?

Suppose that once every five years all American men up to fifty were
required to go into military camp and freshen up on their defence duties
for twenty or thirty days. Would that do them any harm? On the contrary,
it would do them immense good.

And even if war never came, is it not evident that America would benefit
in numberless ways by such a development of the general manhood spirit?
Who can say how much of Germany’s greatness in business and commerce, in
the arts and sciences, is due to the fact that _all_ her men, through
military schooling, have learned precious lessons in self-control and
obedience?

The pacifists tell us that after the present European war, we shall have
nothing to fear for many years from exhausted Europe, but let us not be
too sure of that. History teaches that long and costly wars do not
necessarily exhaust a nation or lessen its readiness to undertake new
wars. On the contrary, the habit of fighting leads easily to more
fighting. The Napoleonic wars lasted over twenty years. At the close of
our civil war we had great generals and a formidable army of veteran
soldiers and would have been willing and able immediately to engage in a
fresh war against France had she not yielded to our demand and withdrawn
Maximilian from Mexico. Bulgaria recently fought two wars within a year,
the second leaving her exhausted and prostrate; yet within two years she
was able to enter upon a third war stronger than ever.

If Germany wins in the present great conflict she may quite conceivably
turn to America for the vast money indemnity that she will be unable to
exact from her depleted enemies in Europe; and if Germany loses or half
loses she may decide to retrieve her desperate fortunes in this tempting
and undefended field. With her African empire hopelessly lost to her,
where more naturally than to facile America will she turn for her coveted
place in the sun?

And if not Germany, it may well be some other great nation that will
attack us. Perhaps Great Britain! Especially if our growing merchant
marine threatens her commercial supremacy of the sea, which is her life.
Perhaps Japan! whose attack on Germany in 1914 shows plainly that she
merely awaits favourable opportunity to dispose of any of her rivals in
the Orient. Let us bear in mind that, in the opinion of the world’s
greatest authorities, we Americans are to-day totally unprepared to
defend ourselves against a first-class foreign power. My story aims to
show this, and high officers in our army and navy, who have assisted me
in the preparation of this book and to whom I am grateful, assure me that
I have set forth the main facts touching our military defencelessness
without exaggeration.        C. M.

WASHINGTON’S BIRTHDAY, 1916.




CHAPTER I


I WITNESS THE BLOWING UP OF THE PANAMA CANAL

In my thirty years’ service as war correspondent of the London _Times_ I
have looked behind the scenes of various world happenings, and have known
the thrill of personally facing some great historic crises; but there is
nothing in my experience so dramatic, so pregnant with human
consequences, as the catastrophe of April 27, 1921, when the Gatun Locks
of the Panama Canal were destroyed by dynamite.

At that moment I was seated on the shaded, palm-bordered piazza of the
Grand Hotel at Colon, discussing with Rear-Admiral Thomas Q. Allyn of the
United States Navy the increasing chances that America might find herself
plunged into war with Japan. For weeks the clouds had been darkening, and
it was now evident that the time had come when the United States must
either abandon the Monroe Doctrine and the open door in China, or fight
to maintain these doctrines.

“Mr. Langston,” the Admiral was saying, “the situation is extremely
grave. Japan intends to carry out her plans of expansion in Mexico and
China, and possibly in the Philippines; there is not a doubt of it. Her
fleet is cruising somewhere in the Pacific,--we don’t know where,--and
our Atlantic fleet passed through the Canal yesterday, as you know, to
make a demonstration of force in the Pacific and to be ready for--for
whatever may come.”

His hands closed nervously, and he studied the horizon with half-shut
eyes.

In the course of our talk Admiral Allyn had admitted that the United
States was woefully unprepared for conflict with a great power, either on
sea or land.

“The blow will be struck suddenly,” he went on, “you may be sure of that.
Our military preparations are so utterly inadequate that we may suffer
irreparable harm before we can begin to use our vast resources. You know
when Prussia struck Austria in 1866 the war was over in three months.
When Germany struck France in 1870 the decisive battle, Sedan, was fought
forty-seven days later. When Japan struck Russia, the end was foreseen
within four or five months.”

“It wasn’t so in the great European war,” I remarked.

“Why not? Because England held the mastery of the sea. But we hold the
mastery of nothing. Our fleet is barely third among the nations and we
are frightfully handicapped by our enormous length of coast line and by
this canal.”

“The Canal gives us a great advantage, doesn’t it? I thought it doubled
the efficiency of our fleet?”

“It does nothing of the sort. The Canal may be seized. It may be put out
of commission for weeks or months by landslides or earthquakes. A few
hostile ships of the _Queen Elizabeth_ class lying ten miles off shore at
either end, with ranges exactly fixed, or a good shot from an aeroplane,
could not only destroy the Canal’s insufficient defences, but could
prevent our fleet from coming through, could hold it, useless, in the
Atlantic when it might be needed to save California or useless in the
Pacific when it might be needed to save New York. If it happened when war
began that one half of our fleet was in the Atlantic and the other half
in the Pacific, then the enemy could keep these two halves separated and
destroy them one by one.”

“I suppose you mean that we need two fleets?”

“Of course we do--a child can see it--if we are to guard our two
seaboards. We must have a fleet in the Atlantic strong enough to resist
any probable attack from the East, and another fleet in the Pacific
strong enough to resist any probable attack from the West.

“But listen to this, think of this,” the veteran warrior leaned towards
me, shaking an eager fore-finger. “At the present moment our entire
fleet, if massed off Long Island, would be inferior to a fleet that
Germany could send across the Atlantic against us by many ships, many
submarines and many aeroplanes. And hopelessly inferior in men and
ammunition, including torpedoes.”

As I listened I felt myself falling under the spell of the Admiral’s
eloquence. He was so sure of what he said. These dangers unquestionably
existed, but--were they about to descend upon America? Must we really
face the horrors of a war of invasion?

“Your arguments are very convincing, sir, and yet--” I hesitated.

“Well?”

“You speak as if these things were going to happen _right now,_ but there
are no signs of war, no clouds on the horizon.”

The Admiral waved this aside with an impatient gesture.

“I tell you the blow will come suddenly. Were there any clouds on the
European horizon in July, 1914? Yet a few persons knew, just as I have
known for months, that war was inevitable.”

“Known?” I repeated.

Very deliberately the grizzled sea fighter lighted a fresh cigar before
replying.

“Mr. Langston, I’ll tell you a little story that explains why I am posing
as a prophet. You can put it in your memoirs some day--if my prophecy
comes true. It’s the story of an American naval officer, a young
lieutenant, who--well, he went wrong about a year ago. He got into the
clutches of a woman spy in the employ of a foreign government. He met
this woman in Marseilles on our last Mediterranean cruise and fell in
love with her--hopelessly. She’s one of those devilish sirens that no
full-blooded man can resist and, the extraordinary part of it is, she
fell in love with him--genuinely in love.

“Well--it was a bad business. This officer gave the woman all he had,
told her all he knew, and finally he asked her to marry him. Yes. He
didn’t care what she was. He just wanted her. And she was so happy, so
crazy about him, that she almost yielded; she was ready to turn over a
new leaf, to settle down as his wife, but--”

“But she didn’t do it?” I smiled.

The Admiral shook his head.

“He was a poor man--just a lieutenant’s pay and she couldn’t give up her
grand life. But she loved him enough to try to save him, enough to leave
him. She wrote him a wonderful letter, poured her soul out to him, gave
him certain military secrets of the government she was working for--they
would have shot her in a minute, you understand, if they had known
it--and she told him to take this information as a proof of her love and
use it to save the United States.”

I was listening now with absorbed interest.

“What government was she working for?”

The Admiral paused to relight his cigar.

“Wait! The next thing was that this lieutenant came to me, as a friend of
his father and an admiral of the American fleet, and made a clean breast
of everything. He made his confession in confidence, but asked me to use
the knowledge as I saw fit without mentioning his name. I did use it
and”--the Admiral’s frown deepened--“the consequence was no one believed
me. They said the warning was too vague. You know the attitude of recent
administrations towards all questions of national defence. It’s always
politics before patriotism, always the fear of losing middle west
pacifist votes. It’s disgusting--horrible!”

“Was the warning really vague?”

“Vague. My God!” The old sea dog bounded from his chair. “I’ll tell you
how vague it was. A statement was definitely made that before May 1,
1921, a great foreign power would make war upon the United States and
would begin by destroying the Panama Canal. To-day is April 27, 1921. I
don’t say these things are going to happen within three days but, Mr.
Langston, as purely as the sun shines on that ocean, we Americans are
living in a fool’s paradise. We are drunk with prosperity. We are deaf
and blind to the truth which is known to other nations, known to our
enemies, known to the ablest officers in our army and navy.

“The truth is that, as a nation, we have learned nothing from our past
wars because we have never had to fight a first-class power that was
prepared. But the next war, and it is surely coming, will find us held in
the grip of an inexorable law which provides that nations imitating the
military policy of China must suffer the fate of China.”

The Admiral now explained why he had sent for me. It was to suggest that
I cable the London _Times_, urging my paper to use its influence, through
British diplomatic channels, to avert another great war. I pointed out
that the chances of such intervention were slight. Great Britain was
still smarting under the memory of Americans’ alleged indifference to
everything but money in 1918 when the United States stood by,
unprotesting, and saw England stripped of her mastery of the sea after
the loss of Gibraltar and the Suez Canal.

“There are two sides to that,” frowned the Admiral, “but one thing is
certain--it’s England or no one. We have nothing to hope for from Russia;
she has what she wants--Constantinople. Nothing to hope for from France;
she has her lost provinces back. And as for Germany--Germany is waiting,
recuperating, watching her chance for a place in the South American sun.”

“Germany managed well in the Geneva Peace Congress of 1919,” I said.

The veteran of Manila threw down his cigarette impatiently.

“Bismarck could have done no better. They bought off Europe, they
crippled England and--they isolated America.”

“By the way,” continued the Admiral, “I must show you some things in my
scrap book. You will be astonished. Wait a minute. I’ll get it.”

The old fellow hurried off and presently returned with a heavy volume
bound in red leather.

“Take it up to your room to-night and look it over. You will find the
most overwhelming mass of testimony to the effect that to-day, in spite
of all that has been said and written and all the money spent, the United
States is totally unprepared to defend its coasts or uphold its national
honour. Just open the book anywhere--you’ll see.”

I obeyed and came upon this statement by Theodore Roosevelt:

What befell Antwerp and Brussels will surely some day befall New York or
San Francisco, and may happen to many an inland city also, if we do not
shake off our supine folly, if we trust for safety to peace treaties
unbacked by force.

“Pretty strong words for an ex-President of the United States to be
using,” nodded the Admiral. “And true! Try another place.”

I did so and came upon this from the pen of Gerhard von
Schulze-Gaevernitz, professor of political economy at the University of
Freiburg and a member of the Reichstag:

Flattered and deftly lulled to sleep by British influence, public
opinion in the United States will not wake up until the ‘yellow New
England’ of the Orient, nurtured and deflected from Australia by England
herself, knocks at the gates of the new world. Not a patient and meek
China, but a warlike and conquest-bound Japan will be the aggressor when
that day comes. Then America will be forced to fight under unfavourable
conditions.

The famous campaigner’s eyes flashed towards the Pacific.

“When that day comes! Ah! Speaking of Japan,” he turned over the pages in
nervous haste. “Here we are! You can see how much the Japanese love us!
Listen! This is an extract from the most popular book in Japan to-day. It
is issued by Japan’s powerful and official National Defence Association
with a view to inflaming the Japanese people against the United States
and preparing them for a war of invasion against this country. Listen to
this:

“Let America beware! For our cry, ‘On to California! On to Hawaii!
On to the Philippines!’ is becoming only secondary to our imperial
anthem!... To arms! We must seize our standards, unfurl them to the winds
and advance without the least fear, as America has no army worthy the
name, and with the Panama Canal destroyed, its few battleships will be of
no use until too late.

“I tell you, Mr. Langston,” pursued the Admiral, “we Americans are to-day
the most hated nation on earth. The richest, the most arrogant, the most
hated nation on earth! And helpless! Defenceless! Believe me, that’s a
bad combination. Look at this! Read this! It’s a cablegram to the New
York _Tribune_, published on May 21, 1915, from Miss Constance Drexel, an
American delegate to the Woman’s Peace Conference at The Hague:

“I have just come out of Germany and perhaps the predominating impression
I bring with me is Germany’s hatred of America. Germany feels that war
with America is only a matter of time. Everywhere I went I found the same
sentiment, and the furthest distance away I found the war put was ten
years. It was said to me: ‘We must settle with England first, but then
will come America’s turn. If we don’t make war on you ourselves we will
get Japan into a war with you, and then we will supply arms and munitions
to Japan.’”

At this point, I remember, I had turned to order an orange liqueur, when
the crash came.

It was terrific. Every window in the hotel was shattered, and some scores
of labourers working near the Gatun Locks were killed instantly. Six
hundred tons of dynamite, secreted in the hold of a German merchantman,
had been exploded as the vessel passed through the locks, and ten
thousand tons of Portland cement had sunk in the tangled iron wreck, to
form a huge blockading mass of solid rock on the floor of the narrow
passage.

Needless to say, every man on the German ship thus sacrificed died at his
post.

The Admiral stared in dismay when the news was brought to him.

“Germany!” he muttered. “And our fleet is in the Pacific!”

“Does it mean war?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. Unquestionably it means war. We have been misled. We
were thinking of one enemy, and we have been struck by another. We
thought we could send our fleet through the Canal and get it back easily;
but--now we cannot get it back for at least two months!”



CHAPTER II


AMERICAN AEROPLANES AND SUBMARINES BATTLE DESPERATELY AGAINST THE GERMAN
FLEET

A week later--or, to be exact, on May 4, 1921--I arrived in New York,
following instructions from my paper, and found the city in a state of
indescribable confusion and alarm.

War had been declared by Germany against the United States on the day
that the Canal was wrecked, and German transports, loaded with troops and
convoyed by a fleet of battleships, were known to be on the high seas,
headed for American shores. As the Atlantic fleet had been cut off in the
Pacific by that desperate piece of Panama strategy (the Canal would be
impassable for months), it was evident that those ships could be of no
service for at least eight weeks, the time necessary to make the trip
through the Straits of Magellan; and meanwhile the Atlantic seaboard from
Maine to Florida was practically unguarded.

No wonder the newspapers shrieked despairingly and bitterly upbraided
Congress for neglecting to provide the country with adequate naval
defences.

Theodore Roosevelt came out with a signed statement:

“Four years ago I warned this country that the United States must have
two great fleets--one for the Atlantic, one for the Pacific.”

Senator Smoot, in a sensational speech, referred to his vain efforts
to secure for the country a fleet of fifty sea-going submarines and
twenty-five coast-defence submarines. Now, he declared, the United States
would pay for its indifference to danger.

In the House of Representatives, Gardner and Hobson both declared that
our forts were antiquated, our coast-defence guns outranged, our
artillery ridiculously insufficient, and our supply of ammunition not
great enough to carry us through a single month of active warfare.

On the night of my arrival in Manhattan I walked through scenes of
delirious madness. The town seemed to reel in a sullen drunkenness.
Throngs filled the dark streets. The Gay White Way was no longer either
white or gay. The marvellous electrical display of upper Broadway had
disappeared--not even a street light was to be seen. And great hotels,
like the Plaza, the Biltmore, and the new Morgan, formerly so bright,
were scarcely discernible against the black skies. No one knew where the
German airships might be. Everybody shouted, but nobody made very much
noise. The city was hoarse. I remembered just how London acted the night
the first Zeppelin floated over the town.

At five o’clock the next morning, Mayor McAneny appointed a Committee of
Public Safety that went into permanent session in Madison Square Garden,
which was thronged day and night, while excited meetings, addressed by
men and women of all political parties, were held continuously in Union
Square, City Hall Park, Columbus Circle, at the Polo Grounds and in
various theatres and motion-picture houses.

Such a condition of excitement and terror necessarily led to disorder and
on May 11, 1921, General Leonard Wood, in command of the Eastern Army,
placed the city under martial law.

And now on every tongue were frantic questions. When would the Germans
land? To-day? To-morrow? Where would they strike first? What were we
going to do? Every one realised, when it was too late, the hopeless
inadequacy of our aeroplane scouting service. To guard our entire
Atlantic seaboard we had fifty military aeroplanes where we should have
had a thousand and we were wickedly lacking in pilots. Oh, the shame of
those days!

In this emergency Rodman Wanamaker put at the disposal of the government
his splendid air yacht the _America II_, built on the exact lines of the
_America I_, winner of across-the-Atlantic prizes in 1918, but of much
larger spread and greater engine power. The America II could carry a
useful load of five tons and in her scouting work during the next
fortnight she accommodated a dozen passengers, four officers, a crew of
six, and two newspaper men, Frederick Palmer, representing the Associated
Press, and myself for the London _Times._

What a tremendous thing it was, this scouting trip! Day after day, far
out over the ocean, searching for German battleships! Our easy jog trot
speed along the sky was sixty miles an hour and, under full engine
pressure, the _America II_ could make a hundred and twenty, which was
lucky for us as it saved us many a time when the slower German aircraft
came after us, spitting bullets from their machine guns.

On the morning of May 12, a perfect spring day, circling at a height of
half a mile, about fifty miles off the eastern end of Long Island, we had
our first view of the German fleet as it ploughed through smooth seas to
the south of Montauk Point.

We counted eight battle cruisers, twelve dreadnoughts, ten
pre-dreadnoughts, and about sixty destroyers, in addition to transports,
food-ships, hospital-ships, repair-ships, colliers, and smaller fighting
and scouting vessels, all with their full complement of men and
equipment, moving along there below us in the pleasant sunshine. Among
the troopships I made out the _Kaiserin Auguste Luise_ and the
_Deutschland,_ on both of which I had crossed the summer following the
Great Peace. I thought of the jolly old commander of the latter vessel
and of the capital times we had had together at the big round table in
the dining-saloon. It seemed impossible that this was war!

I subsequently learned that the original plan worked out by the German
general staff contemplated a landing in the sheltered harbour of Montauk
Point, but the lengthened range (21,000 yards) of mortars in the American
forts on Fisher’s Island and Plum Island, a dozen miles to the north, now
brought Montauk Point under fire, so the open shore south of East Hampton
was substituted as the point of invasion.

“There’s no trouble about landing troops from the open sea in smooth
weather like this,” said Palmer, speaking through his head-set. “We did
it at Santiago, and the Japs did it at Port Arthur.”

“And the English did it at Ostend,” I agreed. “Hello!”

As I swept the sea to the west with my binoculars I thought I caught the
dim shape of a submerged submarine moving slowly through the black
depths like a hungry shark; but it disappeared almost immediately, and I
was not sure. As a matter of fact, it was a submarine, one of six
American under-water craft that had been assigned to patrol the south
shore of Long Island.

The United States still had twenty-five submarines in Atlantic waters, in
addition to thirty that were with the absent fleet; but these twenty-five
had been divided between Boston Harbour, Narragansett Bay, Delaware
Bay, Chesapeake Bay, and other vulnerable points, so that only six were
left to defend the approaches to New York City. And, of these six, five
were twenty-four hours late, owing, I heard later, to inexcusable
delays at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, where they had been undergoing repairs.
The consequence was that only the K-2 was here to meet the German
invasion--one lone submarine against a mighty fleet.

Still, under favourable conditions, one lone submarine is a force to be
reckoned with, as England learned in 1915.

The K-2 attacked immediately, revealing her periscope for a minute as she
took her observations. Then she launched a torpedo at a big German
supply-ship not more than a thousand yards away.

“Good-bye, ship!” said Palmer, and we watched with fascinated interest
the swift white line that marked the course of the torpedo. It struck the
vessel squarely amidships, and she sank within five minutes, most of the
men aboard being rescued by boats from the fleet.

It now went ill with the K-2, however; for, having revealed her presence,
she was pursued by the whole army of swift destroyers. She dived, and
came up again two miles to the east, bent on sinking a German
dreadnought; but, unfortunately, she rose to the surface almost under the
nose of one of the destroyers, which bombarded her with its rapid-fire
guns, and then, when she sank once more, dropped on her a small mine that
exploded under water with shattering effect, finishing her.

As I think it over, I feel sure that if those other five submarines had
been ready with the K-2, we might have had another story to tell.
Possibly the slowness of the Brooklyn Navy Yard--which is notorious, I
understand--may have spoiled the one chance that America had to resist
this invasion.

The next day the five tardy submarines arrived; but conditions were
now less favourable, since the invaders had had time to prepare their
defence against this under-water peril. As we flew over East Hampton on
the following afternoon, we were surprised to see five fully inflated
air-ships of the nonrigid Parseval type floating in the blue sky, like
grim sentinels guarding the German fleet. Down through the sun-lit ocean
they could see the shadowy underwater craft lurking in the depths, and
they carried high explosives to destroy them.

“How about our aeroplanes?” grumbled Palmer.

“Look!” I answered, pointing toward the Shinnecock Hills, where some tiny
specks appeared like soaring eagles. “They’re coming!”

The American aeroplanes, at least, were on time, and as they swept nearer
we counted ten of them, and our spirits rose; for ten swift aeroplanes
armed with explosive bombs can make a lot of trouble for slower and
clumsier aircraft.

But alas for our hopes! The invaders were prepared also, and, before the
American fliers had come within striking distance, they found themselves
opposed by a score of military hydroplanes that rose presently, with a
great whirring of propellers, from the decks of the German battle-ships.
Had the Americans been able to concentrate here their entire force of
fifty aeroplanes, the result might have been different; but the fifty had
been divided along the Atlantic coast--ten aeroplanes and five submarines
being assigned to each harbour that was to be defended.

Now came the battle. And for hours, until night fell, we watched a
strange and terrible conflict between these forces of air and water. With
admirable skill and daring the American aeronauts manoeuvred for
positions above the Parsevals, whence they could drop bombs; and so swift
and successful were they that two of the enemy’s air-ships were destroyed
before the German aeroplanes really came into the action. After that it
went badly for the American fliers, which were shot down, one by one,
until only three of the ten remained. Then these three, seeing
destruction inevitable, signalled for a last united effort, and, all
together, flew at full speed straight for the great yellow gas-bag of the
biggest Parseval and for certain death. As they tore into the flimsy
air-ship there came a blinding flash, an explosion that shook the hills,
and that brave deed was done.

There remained two Parsevals to aid the enemy’s fleet in its fight
against American submarines, and I wish I might describe this fight in
more detail. We saw a German transport torpedoed by the B-1; we saw
two submarines sunk by rapid-fire guns of the destroyers; we saw a
battle-cruiser crippled by the glancing blow of a torpedo; and we saw the
K-1 blown to pieces by bombs from the air-ships. Two American submarines
were still fighting, and of these one, after narrowly missing a
dreadnought, sent a troop-ship to the bottom, and was itself rammed and
sunk by a destroyer, the sea being spread with oil. The last submarine
took to flight, it seems, because her supply of torpedoes was exhausted.
And this left the invaders free to begin their landing operations.

During four wonderful days (the Germans were favoured by light northeast
breezes) Palmer and I hovered over these East Hampton shores, watching
the enemy construct their landing platforms of brick and timbers from
dynamited houses, watching the black transports as they disgorged from
lighters upon the gleaming sand dunes their swarms of soldiers, their
thousands of horses, their artillery, their food supplies. There seemed
no limit to what these mighty vessels could carry.

We agreed that the great 50,000-ton _Imperator_ alone brought at least
fifteen thousand men with all that they needed. And I counted twenty
other huge transports; so my conservative estimate, cabled to the paper
by way of Canada,--for the direct cables were cut,--was that in this
invading expedition Germany had successfully landed on the shores of Long
Island one hundred and fifty thousand fully equipped fighting-men. It
seemed incredible that the great United States, with its vast wealth and
resources, could be thus easily invaded; and I recalled with a pang what
a miserable showing England had made in 1915 from similar unpreparedness.

[Illustration: AS THE GERMAN LANDING OPERATIONS PROCEEDED, THE NEWS OF
THE INVASION SPREAD OVER THE WHOLE REGION WITH THE SPEED OF ELECTRICITY.
THE ENEMY WAS COMING! THE ENEMY WAS HERE. WHAT WAS TO BE DONE?]

As the German landing operations proceeded, the news of the invasion
spread over the whole region with the speed of electricity, and in every
town and village on Long Island angry and excited and terrified crowds
cursed and shouted and wept in the streets.

The enemy was coming!

The enemy was here!

What was to be done?

Should they resist?

And many valorous speeches in the spirit of ‘76 were made by farmers and
clerks and wild-eyed women. What was to be done?

In the peaceful town of East Hampton some sniping was done, and afterward
bitterly repented of, the occasion being the arrival of a company of
Uhlans with gleaming helmets, who galloped down the elm-lined main street
with requisitions for food and supplies.

Suddenly a shot was fired from Bert Osborne’s livery stable, then another
from White’s drug store, then several others, and one of the Uhlans
reeled in his saddle, slightly wounded. Whereupon, to avenge this attack
and teach Long Islanders to respect their masters, the German fleet was
ordered to shell the village.

Half an hour later George Edwards, who was beating up the coast in his
trim fishing schooner, after a two weeks’ absence in Barnegat Bay (he
had heard nothing about the war with Germany), was astonished to see a
German soldier in formidable helmet silhouetted against the sky on the
eleventh tee of the Easthampton golf course, one of the three that rise
above the sand dunes along the surging ocean, wigwagging signals to the
warships off shore. And, presently, Edwards saw an ominous puff of white
smoke break out from one of the dreadnoughts and heard the boom of a
twelve-inch gun.

The first shell struck the stone tower of the Episcopal church and hurled
fragments of it against the vine-covered cottage next door, which had
been the home a hundred and twenty years before of John Howard Payne, the
original “home sweet home.”

The second shell struck John Drew’s summer home and set it on fire; the
third wrecked the Casino; the fourth destroyed Albert Herter’s studio and
slightly injured Edward T. Cockcroft and Peter Finley Dunne, who were
playing tennis on the lawn. That night scarcely a dozen buildings in this
beautiful old town remained standing. And the dead numbered more than
three hundred, half of them being women and children.



CHAPTER III


GERMAN INVADERS DRIVE THE IRON INTO THE SOUL OF UNPREPARED AMERICA

The next week was one of deep humiliation for the American people. Our
great fleet and our great Canal, which had cost so many hundreds of
millions and were supposed to guarantee the safety of our coasts, had
failed us in this hour of peril.

Secretary Alger, in the Spanish War, never received half the punishment
that the press now heaped on the luckless officials of the War and the
Navy Departments.

The New York _Tribune_, in a scathing attack upon the administration,
said:

The blow has fallen and the United States is totally unprepared to meet
it. Why? Because the Democratic party, during its eight years’ tenure of
office, has obstinately, stupidly and wickedly refused to do what was
necessary to make this country safe against invasion by a foreign power.
There has been a surfeit of talking, of explaining and of promising, but
of definite accomplishment very little, and to-day, in our extreme peril,
we find ourselves without an army or a navy that can cope with the
invaders and protect our shores and our homes.

Richard Harding Davis, in the _Evening Sun_, denounced unsparingly those
Senators and Congressmen who, in 1916, had voted against national
preparedness:

For our present helpless condition and all that results from it, let the
responsibility rest upon these Senators and Congressmen, who, for their
own selfish ends, have betrayed the country. They are as guilty of
treason as was ever Benedict Arnold. Were some of them hanged, the sight
of them with their toes dancing on air might inspire other Congressmen to
consider the safety of this country rather than their own re-election.

The New York _World_ published a memorable letter written by Samuel J.
Tilden in December, 1885, to Speaker Carlisle of the Forty-ninth Congress
on the subject of national defence and pointed out that Mr. Tilden was a
man of far vision, intellectually the foremost democrat of his day. In
this letter Mr. Tilden said:

The property exposed to destruction in the twelve seaports, Portland,
Portsmouth, Boston, Newport, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore,
Charleston, Savannah, New Orleans, Galveston and San Francisco, cannot be
less in value than five thousand millions of dollars.... While we may
afford to be deficient in the means of offence we cannot afford to be
defenceless. The notoriety of the fact that we have neglected the
ordinary precautions of defence invites want of consideration in our
diplomacy, injustice, arrogance and insult at the hands of foreign
nations.

To add to the general indignation, it transpired that the American
reserve fleet, consisting of ten predreadnoughts, was tied up in the
docks of Philadelphia, unable to move for lack of officers and men to
handle them. After frantic orders from Washington and the loss of
precious days, some two thousand members of the newly organised naval
reserve were rushed to Philadelphia; but eight thousand men were needed
to move this secondary fleet, and, even if the eight thousand had been
forthcoming, it would have been too late; for by this time a German
dreadnought was guarding the mouth of Delaware Bay, and these inferior
ships would never have braved its guns. So here were seventy-five million
dollars’ worth of American fighting-ships rendered absolutely useless and
condemned to be idle during the whole war because of bad organisation.

Meantime, the Germans were marching along the Motor Parkway toward New
York City with an army of a hundred and fifty thousand, against which
General Wood, by incredible efforts, was able to oppose a badly
organised, inharmonious force of thirty thousand, including Federals and
militia that had never once drilled together in large manoeuvres. Of
Federal troops there was one regiment of infantry from Governor’s Island,
and this was short of men. There were two infantry regiments from Forts
Niagara and Porter, in New York State. Also a regiment of colored cavalry
from Fort Ethan Allen, Vermont, a battalion of field artillery from Fort
Myer, Virginia, a battalion of engineers from Washington, D. C., a
battalion of coast artillery organised as siege artillery from Fort
Dupont, Delaware, a regiment of cavalry from Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia,
two regiments of infantry from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, one regiment of
field artillery from Fort Sheridan, Illinois, one regiment of horse
artillery from Fort Riley, Kansas, one regiment of infantry and one
regiment of mountain guns from Fort D. A. Russell, Wyoming.

I may add that at this time the United States army, in spite of many
efforts to increase its size, numbered fewer than 70,000 men; and so many
of these were tied up as Coast Artillery or absent in the Philippines,
Honolulu, and the Canal Zone, that only about 30,000 were available as
mobile forces for the national defence.

As these various bodies of troops arrived in New York City and marched
down Fifth Avenue with bands playing “Dixie” and colours flying, the
excitement of cheering multitudes passed all description, especially when
Theodore Roosevelt, in familiar slouch hat, appeared on a big black horse
at the head of a hastily recruited regiment of Rough Riders, many of them
veterans who had served under him in the Spanish War.

Governor Malone reviewed the troops from the steps of the new Court House
and the crowd went wild when the cadets from West Point marched past, in
splendid order. At first I shared the enthusiasm of the moment; but
suddenly I realised how pathetic it all was and Palmer seemed to see that
side of it, too, though naturally he and I avoided all discussion of the
future. In addition to such portions of the regular army as General Wood
could gather together, his forces were supplemented by infantry and
cavalry brigades of militia from New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey,
Connecticut, and Massachusetts, these troops being more or less
unprepared for battle, more or less lacking in the accessories of
battles, notably in field artillery and in artillery equipment of men and
horses. One of the aides on General Wood’s staff told me that the
combined American forces went into action with only one hundred and fifty
pieces of artillery against four hundred pieces that the Germans brought.

“And the wicked part of it is,” he added, “that there were two hundred
other pieces of artillery we might have used if we had had men and horses
to operate them; but--you can’t make an artillery horse overnight.”

“Nor a gun crew,” said I.



CHAPTER IV


INVASION OF LONG ISLAND AND THE BATTLE OF BROOKLYN

To meet this desperate situation and the enemy’s greatly superior forces,
General Wood decided not to advance against the Germans, but to intrench
his army across the western end of Long Island, with his left flank
resting on Fort Totten, near Bayside, and his nine-mile front extending
through Creedmore, Rosedale, and Valley Stream, where his right flank
would be guarded from sea attack by the big guns of Fort Hancock on Sandy
Hook, which would hold the German fleet at a distance.

Any military strategist will agree that this was the only course for the
American commander to pursue under the circumstances; but unfortunately
popular clamour will often have its way in republics, and in this case a
violent three days’ gale--which arrived providentially, according to some
of the newspapers--gave an appearance of reason to the general demand.

This gale interfered seriously with the German landing operations,--in
fact, it wrecked one of their supply-ships,--and, in consequence, such
strong political pressure was brought to bear upon the President that
orders came from Washington to General Wood that he advance his army
against the invaders and drive them into the sea. The General made a few
remarks not for publication, and obeyed. As he told me afterward, it is
doubtful whether the result would have been different in any event.

In throwing forward his forces, General Wood used the three lines of
railroad that cross Long Island from west to east; and on May 17 his
battleline reached from Patchogue through Holtsville to Port Jefferson.
Meantime, the Germans had advanced to a line that extended from East
Moriches to Manorville; and on May 18 the first clash came at daybreak in
a fierce cavalry engagement fought at Yaphank, in which the enemy were
driven back in confusion. It was first blood for the Americans.

This initial success, however, was soon changed to disaster. On May 19
the invaders advanced again, with strengthened lines, under the support
of the big guns of their fleet, which stood offshore and, guided by
aeroplane observers, rained explosive shells upon General Wood’s right
flank with such accuracy that the Americans were forced to withdraw.
Whereupon the Germans, using the famous hook formation that served them
so well in their drive across northern France in the summer of 1914,
pressed forward relentlessly, the fleet supporting them in a deadly
flanking attack upon the American right wing.

On May 20 von Hindenburg established his headquarters at Forest Hills,
where, less than a year before, his gallant countryman, the great
Fraitzheim, had made an unsuccessful effort to wrest the Davis cup from
the American champion and ex-champion, Murray and McLoughlin.

But that was a year ago!

In the morning General Wood’s forces continued to retreat, fighting with
dogged courage in a costly rear-guard action, and destroying railroads
and bridges as they went. The carnage wrought by the German six- and
eleven-inch explosive shells with delayed-action fuses was frightful
beyond anything I have ever known. Ten feet into the ground these
projectiles would bury themselves before exploding, and then--well, no
army could stand against them.

On May 22 General Wood was driven back to his original line of defences
from Fort Totten to Valley Stream, where he now prepared to make a last
stand to save Brooklyn, which stretched behind him with its peaceful
spires and its miles of comfortable homes. Here the Americans were safe
from the hideous pounding of the German fleet, and, although their losses
in five days amounted to more than six thousand men, these had been
replaced by reinforcements of militia from the West and South. There was
still hope, especially as the Germans, once they advanced beyond Westbury
and its famous polo fields, would come within range of the heavy mortars
of Fort Totten and Fort Hamilton, which carried thirteen miles.

That night the German commander, General von Hindenburg, under a flag of
truce, called upon the Americans to surrender in order to save the
Borough of Brooklyn from destruction.

General Wood refused this demand; and on May 23, at dawn, under cover of
his heavy siege-guns, von Hindenburg threw forward his veterans in
terrific massed attack, striking simultaneously at three points with
three army divisions--one in a drive to the right toward Fort Totten, one
in a drive to the left toward Fort Hamilton, and one in a drive straight
ahead against General Wood’s centre and the heart of Brooklyn.

All day the battle lasted--the battle of Brooklyn--with house-to-house
fighting and repeated bayonet charges. And at night the invaders,
outnumbering the American troops five to one, were everywhere victorious.
The defender’s line broke first at Valley Stream, where the Germans, led
by the famous Black Hussars, flung themselves furiously with cold steel
upon the militiamen and put them to flight. By sundown the Uhlans were
galloping, unopposed, along the broad sweep of the Eastern Parkway and
parallel streets towards Prospect Park, where the high land offered an
admirable site for the German artillery, since it commanded Fort Hamilton
from the rear and the entire spread of Brooklyn and Manhattan.

It was now that Field Marshal von Hindenburg and his staff, speeding
along the Parkway in dark grey military automobiles, witnessed a famous
act of youthful heroism. As they swung across the Plaza to turn into
Flatbush Avenue von Hindenburg ordered his chauffeur to slow up so that
he might view the Memorial Arch and the MacMonnies statues of our Civil
War heroes, and at this moment a sharp burst of rifle fire sounded across
Prospect Park.

“What is that?” asked the commander, then he ordered a staff officer to
investigate.

It appears that on this fateful morning five thousand American High
School lads, from fifteen to eighteen years of age, members of the
Athletic League of New York Public Schools, who had been trained in these
schools to shoot accurately, had answered the call for volunteers and
rallied to the defence of their city. By trolley, subway and ferry they
came from all parts of Brooklyn, Manhattan, Harlem, Staten Island and the
Bronx, eager to show what their months of work with subtarget gun
machines, practice rods and gallery shooting, also their annual match on
the Peekskill Rifle Range, would now avail against the enemy. But when
they assembled on the Prospect Parade Ground, ready to do or die, they
found that the entire supply of rifles for their use was one hundred and
twenty-five! Seventy-five Krags, thirty Springfields and one hundred and
twenty Winchesters, 22-calibre muskets--toys fit for shooting squirrels,
and only a small supply of cartridges. The rifles available were issued
to such of the boys as had won their badges of sharpshooter and marksman,
two boys being assigned to each gun, so that if one was shot the other
could go on fighting.

“It was pitiful,” said General George W. Wingate, President of the
League, who was directing their movements, “to see the grief of those
brave boys as they heard the German guns approaching and realised that
they had nothing to fight with. Five thousand trained riflemen and no
rifles!”

Nearer and nearer came the flanking force of the invading host and
presently it reached the outskirts of this beautiful park, which with
hill and lake and greensward covers five hundred acres in the heart of
Brooklyn. A few boys were deployed as skirmishers along the eastern edge
of the Park, but the mass occupied hastily dug trenches near the monument
to the Maryland troops on Lookout Hill and the brass tablet that
commemorate the battle of Long Island. At these historic points for half
an hour they made a stand against a Bavarian regiment that advanced
slowly under cover of artillery fire, not realising that they were
sweeping to death a crowd of almost unarmed schoolboys.

Even so the Americans did deadly execution until their ammunition was
practically exhausted. Then, seeing the situation hopeless, the head
coaches, Emanuel Haug, John A. C. Collins, Donald D. Smith and Paul
B. Mann, called for volunteers to hold the monument with the few remaining
cartridges, while the rest of the boys retreated. Hundreds clamoured for
this desperate honour, and finally the coaches selected seventy of those
who had qualified as sharpshooters to remain and face almost certain
death, among these being: Jack Condon of the Morris High School, J.
Vernet (Manual Training), Lynn Briggs (Erasmus), Isaac Smith (Curtis),
Charles Mason (Commercial), C. Anthony (Bryant), J. Rosenfeld
(Stuyvesant), V. Doran (Flushing), M. Marnash (Eastern District), F.
Scanlon (Bushwick), Winthrop F. Foskett (De Witt Clinton), and Richard
Humphries (Jamaica).

Such was the situation when Field Marshal von Hindenburg dashed up in his
motor car. Seventy young American patriots on top of Lookout Hill, with
their last rounds of toy ammunition, were holding back a German regiment
while their comrades fled for their lives. And surely they would have
been a martyred seventy, since the Bavarians were about to charge in full
force, had not von Hindenburg taken in the situation at a glance and
shouted:

“Halt! It is not fitting that a German regiment shall use its strength
against a handful of boys. Let them guard their monument! March on!”

Meantime, to the east and north of the city the battle raged and terror
spread among the populace. All eyes were fixed on New York as a haven of
refuge and, by the bridge, ferry and tunnel, hundreds of thousands made
their escape from Brooklyn.

The three great bridges stretching their giant black arms across the
river were literally packed with people--fathers, mothers, children, all
on foot, for the trolleys were hopelessly blocked. A man told me
afterwards that it took him seven hours to cross with his wife and their
two little girls.

Other swarms hovered about the tunnel entrances and stormed the
ferry-boats at their slips. Every raft in the harbour carried its load.
The Pennsylvania and Erie ferries from the other side of Manhattan, the
Staten Island boats, the Coney Island and other excursion steamers,
struggled through the press of sea traffic and I heard that three of
these vessels sank of their own weight. Here and there, hardly
discernible among the larger craft, were the small boats, life-boats,
canoes, anything and everything that would float, each bearing its little
group to a precarious safety on Manhattan Island.

Meantime, Fort Totten and Fort Hamilton had been taken from the rear by
overwhelming forces, and their mortars had been used to silence the guns
of Fort Schuyler and Fort Wadsworth. In this emergency, seeing the
situation hopeless, General Wood withdrew his forces in good order under
cover of a rear-guard action between the Uhlans and the United States
colored cavalry, and, hurrying before him the crowds of fleeing
civilians, marched his troops in three divisions across the Brooklyn
Bridge, leaving Brooklyn in flames behind him. Then facing inexorable
necessity, he ordered his engineers to blow up these three beautiful
spans that had cost hundreds of millions, and to flood the subways
between Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Seen through the darkness at the moment of its ruin the vast steel
structure of the Brooklyn Bridge, with its dim arches and filaments, was
like a thing of exquisite lace. In shreds it fell, a tangled, twisted,
tragically wrecked piece of magnificence.



CHAPTER V


GENERAL VON HINDENBURG TEACHES NEW YORK CITY A LESSON

On May 24, 1921, the situation of New York City was seen to be desperate,
and most of the newspapers, even those that had clamoured loudest for
resistance and boasted of American valour and resourcefulness, now
admitted that the metropolis must submit to a German occupation.

Even the women among the public officials and political leaders were
inclined to a policy of nonresistance. General Wood was urged to
surrender the city and avoid the horrors of bombardment; but the
commander replied that his first duty was to defend the territory of the
United States, and that every day he could keep the enemy isolated on
Long Island was a day gained for the permanent defences that were
frantically organising all over the country.

It was vital, too, that the immense stores of gold and specie in the
vaults of the Federal Reserve and other great New York banks should be
safely transported to Chicago.

All day and all night, automobile trucks, operated under orders from
William G. McAdoo, Governor of the Federal Reserve Bank, loaded with
millions and millions of gold, passed unprotected and almost unheeded
through the crowded section between Wall Street and the Grand Central
Station. The people stared at them dumbly. They knew what was going on.
They knew they could have a fortune by reaching out their hands. But at
this moment, with their eternities in their eyes, they had no thought of
gold. Hour after hour the work went on. Finally, subway trains and street
cars were pressed into service as treasure-carriers.

By night $800,000,000 had started West and the next morning Chicago was
the financial capital of America.

At midnight General Wood gave final orders for resistance to the last gun
and the last man; and, when early the next morning the German general
again sent officers with a flag of truce demanding the surrender of
Manhattan Island, Wood’s reply was a firm refusal. He tried, however, to
gain time in negotiations; and a few hours later I accompanied a
delegation of American staff officers with counter-proposals across the
East River in a launch. I can see von Hindenburg now, in his high boots
and military coat, as he received the American officers at the foot of
the shattered Brooklyn Bridge. A square massive head with close-cropped
white hair, brushed straight back from a broad forehead. And sad
searching eyes--wonderful eyes.

“Then you refuse to surrender? You think you can fight?” the Field
Marshal demanded.

At which the ranking American officer, stung by his arrogance, declared
that they certainly did think they could fight, and would prove it.

“Ah! So!” said von Hindenburg, and he glanced at a gun crew who were
loading a half-ton projectile into an 11.1-inch siege-gun that stood on
the pavement. “Which is the Woolworth Building?” he asked, pointing
across the river.

“The tallest one, Excellency--the one with the Gothic lines and gilded
cornices,” replied one of his officers.

“Ah, yes, of course. I recognise it from the pictures. It’s beautiful.
Gentlemen,”--he addressed the American officers,--“I am offering
twenty-dollar gold pieces to this gun crew if they bring down
that tower with a single shot. Now, then, careful!...

“Ready!”

We covered our ears as the shot crashed forth, and a moment later the
most costly and graceful tower in the world seemed to stagger on its
base. Then, as the thousand-pound shell, striking at the twenty-seventh
story, exploded deep inside, clouds of yellow smoke poured out through
the crumbling walls, and the huge length of twenty-four stories above the
jagged wound swayed slowly toward the east, and fell as one piece,
flinging its thousands of tons of stone and steel straight across the
width of Broadway, and down upon the grimy old Post Office Building
opposite.

_“Sehr gut!”_ nodded von Hindenburg. “It’s amusing to see them fall.
Suppose we try another? What’s that one to the left?”

“The Singer Building, Excellency,” answered the officer.

“Good! Are you ready?”

Then the tragedy was repeated, and six hundred more were added to the
death toll, as the great tower crumbled to earth.

“Now, gentlemen,”--von Hindenburg turned again to the American officers
with a tiger gleam in his eyes,--“you see what we have done with
two shots to two of your tallest and finest buildings. At this time
to-morrow, with God’s help, we shall have a dozen guns along this bank of
the river, ready for whatever may be necessary. And two of our
_Parsevals_, each carrying a ton of dynamite, will float over New York
City. I give you until twelve o’clock to-morrow to decide whether you
will resist or capitulate. At twelve o’clock we begin firing.”

Our instructions were to return at once in the launch by the shortest
route to the Battery, where automobiles were waiting to take us to
General Wood’s headquarters in the Metropolitan Tower. I can close my
eyes to-day and see once more those pictures of terror and despair that
were spread before us as we whirled through the crowded streets behind
the crashing hoofs of a cavalry escort. The people knew who we were,
where we had been, and they feared what our message might be.

Broadway, of course, was impassable where the mass of red brick from the
Singer Building filled the great canyon as if a glacier had spread over
the region, or as if the lava from a man-made Aetna had choked this great
thoroughfare.

Through the side streets we snatched hasty impressions of unforgetable
scenes. Into the densely populated regions around Grand and Houston
Streets the evicted people of Brooklyn had poured. And into the homes of
these miserably poor people, where you can walk for blocks without
hearing a word in the English tongue, Brooklyn’s derelicts had been
absorbed by tens of thousands.

Here came men and women from all parts of Manhattan, the rich in their
automobiles, the poor on foot, bearing bundles of food and eager to help
in the work of humanity. And some, alas, were busy with the sinister
business of looting.

Above Fourteenth Street we had glimpses of similar scenes and I learned
later that almost every family in Manhattan received some Brooklyn
homeless ones into their care. New York--for once--was hospitable.

In Madison Square the people waited in silence as we approached the great
white tower from which the Commander of the Army of the East, unmindful
of the fate of the Woolworth and the Singer buildings, watched for
further moves from the fortified shores of Brooklyn. Not a shout greeted
our arrival at the marble entrance facing the square, not even that
murmur of expectancy which sweeps over a tense gathering. The people knew
the answer of von Hindenburg. They had read it, as had all the world for
miles around, in the cataclysm of the plunging towers.

New York must surrender or perish!

Scarcely three blocks away, the Committee of Public Safety, numbering one
hundred, sat in agitated council at the Madison Square Garden, while
enormous crowds, shouting and murmuring, surged outside, where five
hundred armed policemen tried vainly to quell the spirit of riot that was
in the air. Far into the night the discussion lasted, while overhead in
the purple-black sky floated the two _Parsevals_, ominous visitors, their
search-lights playing over the helpless city that was to feel their wrath
on the morrow unless it yielded.

Meantime, on the square platform within the great Moorish building, a
hundred leading citizens of Manhattan, including the ablest and the
richest and a few of the most radical, spoke their minds, while thousands
of men and women, packed in the galleries and the aisles, listened
heart-sick for some gleam of comfort.

And there was none.

Among the Committee of Public Safety I recognised J. P. Morgan, Jacob H.
Sehiff, John D. Rockefeller, Charles F. Murphy, Andrew Carnegie, Vincent
Astor, Cardinal Farley, Colonel Jacob Ruppert, Nicholas Murray Butler, S.
Stanwood Menken, Paul M. Warburg, John Finley, Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont,
James E. Gaffney, Ida Tarbell, Norman Hapgood, William Randolph Hearst,
Senator Whitman, Bernard Ridder, Frank A. Munsey, Henry Morgenthau, Elihu
Root, Henry L. Stimson, Franklin Q. Brown, John Mitchell, John Wanamaker,
Dr. Parkhurst, Thomas A. Edison, Colonel George Harvey, Douglas Robinson,
John Hays Hammond, Theodore Shonts, William Dean Howells, Alan R. Hawley,
Samuel Gompers, August Belmont, Dr. Anna Howard Shaw, the Rev. Percy
Stickney Grant, Judge E. H. Gary, Emerson McMillin, Cornelius Vanderbilt,
and ex-Mayor Mitchel.

Former President Wilson motored over from Princeton, accompanied by
Professor McClellan, and was greeted with cheers. Ex-President Taft was
speaking at the time, advocating a dignified appeal to the Hague Tribunal
for an adjudication of the matter according to international law. Nearly
all of the speakers favoured non-resistance, so far as New York City was
concerned. With scarcely a dissenting voice, the great financial and
business interests represented here demanded that New York City
capitulate immediately.

Whereupon Theodore Roosevelt, who had just entered the Garden with his
uniform still smeared with Long Island mud, sprang to his feet and cried
out that he would rather see Manhattan Island sunk in the Bay than
disgraced by so cowardly a surrender. There was still hope, he declared.
The East River was impassable for the enemy. All shipping had been
withdrawn from Brooklyn shores, and the German fleet dared not enter the
Ambrose Channel and the lower bay so long as the Sandy Hook guns held
out.

“We are a great nation,” Roosevelt shouted, “full of courage and
resourcefulness. Let us stand together against these invaders, as our
forefathers stood at Lexington and Bunker Hill!”

During the cheers that followed this harangue, my attention was drawn to
an agitated group on the platform, the central figure being Bernard
Ridder, recognised leader of the large German-American population of New
York City that had remained staunchly loyal in the crisis. Presently a
clamour from the crowd outside, sharper and fiercer than any that had
preceded it, announced some new and unexpected danger close at hand.

White-faced, Mr. Ridder stepped to the edge of the platform and lifted
his hand impressively.

“Let me speak,” he said. “I must speak in justice to myself and to half a
million German-Americans of this city, who are placed in a terrible
position by news that I have just received. I wish to say that we are
Americans first, not Germans! We are loyal to the city, loyal to this
country, and whatever happens here tonight--”

At this moment a tumult of shouts was heard at the Madison Avenue
entrance, and above it a shrill purring sound that seemed to strike
consternation into an army officer who sat beside me.

“My God!” he cried. “The machine-guns! The Germans are in the streets!”



CHAPTER VI


VARIOUS UNPLEASANT HAPPENINGS IN MANHATTAN

I shall never forget the horror of that hoarse cry:

“The Germans are in the streets!”

What followed was still more terrifying. Somewhere at the back of the
Garden, a piercing whistle cut the air--evidently a signal--and suddenly
we found ourselves facing a ghastly tragedy, and were made to realise the
resistless superiority of a small body of disciplined troops over a
disorganised multitude.

“_Fertig! Los! Hup!_” shouted a loud voice (it was a man with a
megaphone) in the first gallery opposite the platform. Every face in that
tremendous throng turned at once in the direction of the stranger’s
voice. And before the immense audience knew what was happening, five
hundred German soldiers, armed with pistols and repeating rifles, had
sprung to life, alert and formidable, at vantage-points all over the
Garden. Two hundred, with weapons ready, guarded the platform and the
Committee of Public Safety. And, in little groups of threes and fives,
back to back, around the iron columns that rose through the galleries,
stood three hundred more with flashing barrels levelled at the crowds.

I counted fifteen of these dominating groups of soldiers in the northern
half of the lower gallery, and it was the same in the southern half and
the same on both sides of the upper gallery, which made sixty armed
groups in sixty strategic positions. There was nothing for the crowd to
do but yield.

“Pass out, everybody!” screamed the megaphone man. “We fire at the first
disorder.”

“Out, everybody!” roared the soldiers. “We fire at the first disorder.”

As if to emphasise this, an automatic pistol crackled at the far end of
the Garden, and frantic crowds pushed for the doors in abject terror.
There was no thought of resistance.

“Use all the exits,” yelled the megaphone man; and the order was passed
on by the soldiers from group to group. And presently there rolled out
into the streets and avenues through the thirty great doors and down the
six outside stairways that zigzag across the building such streams of
white-faced, staggering, fainting humanity as never had been seen on
Manhattan Island.

I was driven out with the others (except the Committee of Public Safety),
and was happy to find myself with a whole skin in Twenty-sixth Street
opposite the Manhattan Club. As I passed a group of German soldiers near
the door, I observed that they wore grey uniforms. I wondered at this
until I saw overcoats at their feet, and realised that they had entered
the Garden like spies with the audience of citizens, their uniforms and
weapons being concealed under ordinary outer garments, which they had
thrown off at the word of command.

We stumbled into the street, and were driven roughly by other German
soldiers toward the open space of Madison Square. We fled over red and
slippery pavements, strewn with the bodies of dead and wounded policemen
and civilians--the hideous harvest of the machine-guns. At the corner of
Madison Avenue and Twenty-fifth Street I saw an immense coal-carrying
motor-truck with plates of iron covering its four sides, and through
loopholes in the plates I saw murderous muzzles protruding.

It appears that shortly after midnight, at the height of the debate, four
of these armoured cars came lumbering toward the Garden from west and
east, north and south; and, as they neared the four corners of the
immense yellow building, without warning they opened fire upon the
police, which meant inevitably upon the crowd also. In each truck were a
dozen soldiers and six machine-guns, each one capable of firing six
hundred shots a minute. There was no chance for resistance, and within a
quarter of an hour the streets surrounding the Garden were a shambles. On
Madison Avenue, just in front of the main entrance, I saw bodies lying
three deep, many of them hideously mutilated by the explosive effects of
these bullets at short range. As I stepped across the curb in front of
the S.P.C.A. building, I cried out in horror; for there on the sidewalk
lay a young mother--But why describe the horror of that scene?

With difficulty I succeeded in hiring a taxicab and set out to find
General Wood or some officer of his staff from whom I might get an
understanding of these tragic events. Who were those German soldiers at
the Garden? Where did they come from? Were they German-Americans?

It was four o’clock in the morning before I located General Wood at the
plaza of the Queensborough Bridge, where he was overseeing the placing of
some artillery pieces. He was too busy to talk to me, but from one of his
aides I learned that the soldiers at the Madison Square Garden were not
German-Americans and were not von Hindenburg’s men, but were part of that
invisible army of German spies that invariably precedes the invading
forces of the Kaiser. Arriving a few hundred at a time for a period of
more than three years, 50,000 of these German spies, fully armed and
equipped, now held New York at their mercy. More than that, they had in
their actual physical possession the men who owned half the wealth of the
nation. That New York would capitulate was a foregone conclusion.

After cabling this news, I went back to my hotel, the old Brevoort,
for a snatch of sleep; and at half-past eight I was out in the streets
again. The first thing that caught my eye was a black-lettered
proclamation--posted by German spies, no doubt--over Henri’s barber shop,
and signed by General von Hindenburg, announcing the capitulation of New
York City. The inhabitants were informed that they had nothing to fear.
Their lives and property would be protected, and they would find the
Germans just and generous in all their dealings. Food and supplies would
be paid for at the market price, and citizens would be recompensed for
all services rendered. The activities of New York would go on as usual,
and there would be no immediate occupation of Manhattan Island by German
troops. All orders from the conquering army in Brooklyn must be
implicitly obeyed, under penalty of bombardment.

I could scarcely believe my eyes. New York City had capitulated! I asked
a man beside me--an agitated citizen in an orange tie--whether this could
be true. He said it was--all the morning papers confirmed it. The immense
pressure from Wall Street upon Washington, owing to the hold-up of
multimillionaires, had resulted in orders from the President that the
city surrender and that General Wood’s forces withdraw to New Jersey.

“What about John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie and J. P. Morgan and
the other hostages?” I asked.

“The _Sun_ says they have been taken over to Brooklyn where the German
army is, and they’ve got to raise a billion dollars in gold.”

“A billion dollars in gold!”

“Sure; as an indemnity for New York City. You’ll notice we could have
bought a few defences for that billion,” sniffed the angry citizen.

Things moved rapidly after this. All the shipping in waters about the
island metropolis, including ferry-boats, launches, pilot-boats,
everything that floated, was delivered over to the Germans. The Sandy
Hook defences were delivered over, and the rivers and bays were cleared
of mines. All motor-cars, supplies of gasolene, firearms, and ammunition
in New York City were seized and removed to Brooklyn. The telephone
service was taken over by the Germans and operated by them, chiefly for
military purposes. The mail service ceased. The newspapers were ordered
not to appear--with the exception of the _Staats-Zeitung_, which became
the official organ of the invaders and proceeded to publish editions in
English as well as German.

“What will happen if we go ahead and get out the paper in spite of your
order?” inquired the city editor of the _Evening Journal_ when a youthful
Prussian officer informed him that the paper must not appear.

“Oh, you will be shot and William Randolph Hearst will be shot,” said the
officer pleasantly.

About noon on the day of capitulation, May 25, 1921, a company of German
soldiers with two machine guns, two ammunition carts and a line of motor
trucks landed at the Battery and marched quietly up Broadway, then turned
into Wall Street and stopped outside the banking house of J. P. Morgan &
Co. A captain of hussars in brilliant uniform and wearing an eyeglass
went inside with eight of his men and explained politely to the manager
that the Germans had arranged with J. P. Morgan personally that they were
to receive five million dollars a day in gold on account of the indemnity
and, as four days’ payment, that is twenty million dollars, were now due,
the captain would be obliged if the manager would let him have twenty
million dollars in gold immediately. Also a match for his cigarette.

The manager, greatly disturbed, assured the captain that there was not as
much money as that in the bank, all the gold in New York having been sent
out of the city.

“Ah!” said the officer with a smile. “That will simply put you to the
trouble of having it sent back again. You see, we hold the men who own
this gold. Besides, I think you can, with an effort, get together this
trifling amount.”

The manager vowed it was utterly impossible, whereupon the captain
motioned to one of his men, who, it turned out, had been for years a
trusted employee of J. P. Morgan & Co. and had made himself familiar with
every detail of Wall Street affairs. He knew where a reserve store of
gold was hidden and the consequence was that half an hour later the
German soldiers marched back to the Battery, their motor trucks groaning
under the weight of twenty million dollars in double eagles and bullion.

“You see, we need some small change to buy eggs and chickens and
vegetables with,” laughed the officer. “We are very particular to pay for
everything we take.”

An hour later the first show of resistance to German authority came when
a delegation of staff officers from General von Hindenburg visited the
city hall to instruct Mayor McAneny as to the efficient running of the
various municipal departments. I had the details of this conference from
the mayor’s private secretary. The officers announced that there would be
no interference with the ordinary life of the city so long as the results
were satisfactory. Business must go on as usual. Theatres and places of
amusement were to remain open. The city must be gay, just as Berlin was
gay in 1915.

On the other hand any disorder or failure to provide for German needs in
the matter of food and supplies would be severely dealt with. Every
morning there must be delivered at the foot of Fulton Street, Brooklyn,
definite quantities of meat, poultry, eggs, butter, vegetables, flour,
milk, sugar, fruits, beer, coffee, tea, besides a long and detailed list
of army supplies.

“Suppose we cannot get these things?” protested the mayor. “Suppose the
train service to New York is cut off by General Wood’s army?”

“Hah!” snorted a red-faced colonel of artillery. “There are two and a
half million Americans on Manhattan Island--and we’ll see that they stay
there--who will starve within one week if General Wood cuts off the train
service. I don’t think he will cut it off, Mr. McAneny.”

“Besides, my dear sir,” drawled a slender English-looking officer,
wearing the iron cross, “if there should be any interference with our
food supply, remember that we can destroy your gas and electric lighting
plants, we can cripple your transportation system and possibly cut off
your water supply with a few well directed shots. Don’t forget that, Mr.
McAneny.”

The trouble began as these German officers walked down Broadway with a
small escort of soldiers. Whenever they passed a policeman they required
him to salute, in accordance with published orders, but a big Irishman
was defiant and the officers stopped to teach him manners. At which a
crowd gathered that blocked Broadway and the officers were insulted and
jostled and one of them lost his helmet. There was no serious disorder,
but the Germans made it a matter of principle and an hour later the
_Staats Zeitung_ came out with a special edition announcing that,
inasmuch as disrespect had been shown to five German officers by a
Broadway crowd, it now became necessary to give the city an object lesson
that would, it was hoped, prevent such a regrettable occurrence in the
future. That evening five six-inch shells would be fired by German siege
guns in Brooklyn at five indicated open spaces in Manhattan, these being
chosen to avoid losses of life and property. The first shell would be
fired at seven o’clock and would strike in Battery Park; the second at
7.05 and would strike in Union Square; the third at 7.10 and would strike
in Madison Square; the fourth at 7.15 and would strike in Stuyvesant
Square; the fifth at 7.20 and would strike in Central Park just north of
the Plaza.

This announcement was carried out to the letter, the five shells
exploding at the exact points and moments indicated, and the people
realised with what horrible precision the German artillery-men held
Manhattan island at their mercy.

The newspapers also received their object lesson through the action of
the _Evening Telegram_ in bringing out an extra announcing the
bombardment. My own desk being in the foreign editor’s room, I witnessed
this grim occurrence. At half-past five a boyish-looking lieutenant
sauntered in and asked for the managing editor, who was sitting with his
feet on a desk.

“Good-evening,” said the German. “You have disobeyed orders in getting
out this edition. I am sorry.”

The editor stared at him, not understanding. “Well, what’s the answer?”

The officer’s eyes were sympathetic and his tone friendly. He glanced at
his wrist watch. “The answer is that I give you twenty minutes to
telephone your family, then I’m going to take you up on the roof and have
you shot. I am sorry.”

Twenty minutes later they stood up this incredulous editor behind the
illuminated owls that blinked down solemnly upon the turmoil of Herald
Square and shot him to death as arranged.



CHAPTER VII


NEW HAVEN IS PUNISHED FOR RIOTING AND INSUBORDINATION

Meantime the United States from coast to coast was seething with rage
and humiliation. This incredible, impossible thing had happened. New
York City was held by the enemy, and its greatest citizens, whose names
were supposed to shake the world--Rockefeller, Morgan, Carnegie,
Vanderbilt,--were helpless prisoners. General Wood’s defeated army had
been driven back into New Jersey, and was waiting there for von
Hindenburg’s next move, praying for more artillery, more ammunition, more
officers, and more soldiers. Let this nation be threatened, Secretary of
State Bryan had said, and between sunrise and sunset a million men would
spring to arms. Well, this was the time for them to spring; but where
were the arms? Nowhere! It would take a year to manufacture what was
needed! A year to make officers! A year to make soldiers! And the enemy
was here with mailed fist thundering at the gates!

The question now heard in all the clubs and newspaper offices, and in
diplomatic circles at Washington, was, which way would von Hindenburg
strike when he left New York? Would it be toward Boston or toward
Philadelphia? And why did he delay his blow, now that the metropolis,
after a week’s painful instruction, was resigning itself to a Germanised
existence, with German officials collecting the New York custom house
revenues and a German flag flying from the statue of Liberty? What was
von Hindenburg waiting for?

On the 3d of June these questions were dramatically answered by the
arrival of another invading expedition, which brought a second force of
one hundred and fifty thousand German soldiers. What cheering there was
from Brooklyn shores as these transports and convoys, black with men,
steamed slowly into the ravished upper bay, their bands crashing out
“Deutschland Über Alles” and their proud eagles floating from all the
mast-heads!

“This makes three hundred thousand first-class fighting-men,” scowled
Frederick Palmer as we watched the pageant. “What is Leonard Wood going
to do about it?”

“I know what von Hindenburg is going to do,” said I, taking the role of
prophet. “Divide his forces and start two drives--one through New England
to Boston, and one to Washington.”

As a matter of fact, this is exactly what the German general did do--and
he lost no time about it. On June 5, von Hindenburg, with an army of
125,000, began his march toward Trenton, and General von Kluck, who had
arrived with the second expedition, started for Boston with an equal
force. This left 50,000 German troops in Brooklyn to control New York
City and to form a permanent military base on Long Island.

General Wood’s position was terribly difficult. His army, encamped half
way between Trenton and Westfield, had been increased to 75,000 men; but
50,000 of these from the militia were sadly lacking in arms and
organisation, and 5,000 were raw recruits whose first army work had been
done within the month. He had 20,000 regulars, not half of whom had ever
seen active warfare. And against these von Hindenburg was advancing with
125,000 veterans who had campaigned together in France and who were
equipped with the best fighting outfit in the world!

It would have been madness for the American commander to divide his
outclassed forces; and yet, if he did not divide them, von Kluck’s army
would sweep over New England without resistance. In this cruel dilemma,
General Wood decided--with the approval of the President--to make a stand
against von Hindenburg and save Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington,
if he could, and to leave New England to its fate.

At this critical moment I was instructed by my paper to accompany a
raiding expedition sent by General von Hindenburg into northern New
Jersey, with the object of capturing the Picatinny arsenal near Dover;
and this occupied me for several days, during which General von Kluck’s
army, unresisted, had marched into Connecticut up to a line reaching from
beyond Bridgeport to Danbury to Washington, and had occupied New
Rochelle, Greenwich, Stamford, South Norwalk, and Bridgeport. The Germans
advanced about fifteen miles a day, living off the country, and carefully
repairing any injuries to the railways, so that men and supplies from
their Long Island base could quickly follow them.

On June 10, when I rejoined General von Kluck’s staff (to which I had
been assigned), I found that he was accompanied by the Crown Prince and
the venerable Count Zeppelin, both of whom seemed more interested in this
New England occupation than in the activities of von Hindenburg’s army.
They realised, it appears, the great importance of controlling the
industrial resources, the factories and machine-shops of Connecticut and
Massachusetts. It was this interest, I may add, that led to the first
bloodshed on Connecticut soil.

Thus far not a shot had been fired by the invaders, who had been received
everywhere by sullen but submissive crowds. Only a small part of the
population had fled to the north and east, and the activities of occupied
towns and cities went on very much as usual under German orders and
German organisation. The horrible fate of Brooklyn, the wreck of the
Woolworth and Singer buildings were known everywhere; and if New York
City, the great metropolis, had been forced to meek surrender by the
invaders, what hope was there for Stamford and Bridgeport and South
Norwalk?

[Illustration: THEN, FACING INEXORABLE NECESSITY, GENERAL WOOD ORDERED
HIS ENGINEERS TO BLOW UP THE BRIDGES AND FLOOD THE SUBWAYS THAT LED TO
MANHATTAN. IT WAS AS IF THE VAST STEEL STRUCTURE OF BROOKLYN BRIDGE HAD
BEEN A THING OF LACE. IN SHREDS IT FELL, A TORN, TRAGICALLY WRECKED PIECE
OF MAGNIFICENCE.]

But in Hartford a different spirit was stirring. By their admirable spy
service, their motorcycle service, and their aeroplane service, the
German staff were informed of defiant Hartford crowds gathering in
Bushnell Park; of the Putnam Phalanx parading in continental uniforms,
and of the Governor’s First Company Foot Guards marching past the
monument where the Charter Oak had stood facing the South Congregational
Church; and of patriotic speeches from beside the statue of Nathan Hale
on Main Street.

Also in New Haven, city of elms and of Yale College, the Second Company
of Governor’s Foot Guards and the valiant New Haven Grays, followed by
cheering crowds, had marched down Chapel and Meadow streets to the Second
Regiment Armory, home of joyous Junior promenades; and here vehement
orators had recalled how their ancestors, the minute-men of 1776, had
repelled the British there to the west of the city, where Columbus and
Congress and Davenport avenues meet at the Defenders’ Monument. Why
should not this bravery and devotion be repeated now in 1921 against the
Germans? Why not?

The answer was spoken clearly in a widely published appeal to the people
of New England, made by the Governor of Connecticut and supported by
Simeon E. Baldwin, ex-Governor of the State, and Arthur T. Hadley,
president of Yale, in which the utter folly and hopelessness of
resistance without army or militia was convincingly set forth. Professor
Taft declared it the duty of every loyal citizen to avoid nameless
horrors of bloodshed and destruction of property by refraining from any
opposition to an overwhelmingly superior force.

We entered New Haven on June 12, and for forty-eight hours there was no
disorder. German siege guns were placed on the sheer precipice of East
Rock, ranged alongside the grey shaft of the Soldiers’ Monument,
dominating the city; machine-guns were set up at the four corners of the
Green, at points surrounding the college buildings, and at other
strategic points. Students were not allowed to leave the college grounds
without military permission.

To further insure the good behaviour of the city, twenty hostages were
taken, including ex-President William H. Taft, President Arthur T. Hadley
of Yale University, Thomas G. Bennett, ex-president of the Winchester
Repeating Arms Company, Major Frank J. Rice, ex-Governor Simeon E.
Baldwin, Edward Malley, General E. E. Bradley, Walter Camp, and three
members of the graduating class of Yale University, including the
captains of the baseball and football teams. These were held as prisoners
within the grey granite walls and towers of Edgerton, the residence of
Frederick F. Brewster. As staff headquarters, General von Kluck and the
Crown Prince occupied the palatial white marble home of Louis Stoddard,
the famous polo-player.

The trouble began on June 14, when the invaders tried to set going
the manufacturing activities of New Haven, shut down during the past
week--especially he Winchester Repeating Arms Company, mploying about
eleven thousand men, and the Sargent Hardware Manufacturing Company,
employing eight thousand. Large numbers of these employees had fled from
New Haven in spite of offers of increased wages, so that the Germans had
been obliged to bring on men from New York to fill their places. This led
to rioting and scenes of violence, with a certain amount of looting, in
various parts of the city; and toward evening German troops fired upon
the crowds, killing and wounding about two hundred.

In punishment of this insubordination, General von Kluck ordered the guns
on East Rock to destroy the Hotel Taft and the new Post Office Building,
and this was done as the sun was setting. He also ordered that two of the
hostages, chosen by lot, should be led out before Vanderbilt Hall, at the
corner of College and Chapel streets, the next day at noon, and shot.

However, this grim fate was averted through the intercession of an
American woman, a white-haired lady whose husband, a Northern general,
had fought with Count Zeppelin in the American Civil War, and who at
midnight went to the Whitney mansion, where the Count and his staff were
quartered, and begged on her knees for mercy. And, for the sake of old
times and old friendship, Count Zeppelin had this penalty remitted.



CHAPTER VIII


I HAVE A FRIENDLY TALK WITH THE GERMAN CROWN PRINCE AND SECURE A
SENSATIONAL INTERVIEW

After the pacification of New Haven and the re-establishment of its
industries, our division of the German army, numbering about five
thousand men, swung to the north, through Wallingford, Meriden, and
Middletown, and marched toward the capital of the State.

I shall always remember the morning of June 17, 1921, when, at the
request of the Crown Prince, I rode at his side for an hour before we
entered Hartford. I was amazed at the extent of the Prince’s information
and at his keen desire for new knowledge. He asked about the number of
men employed in the Hartford rubber works, in Colt’s armory, in the Pratt
& Whitney machine-shops, and spoke of plans for increasing the efficiency
of these concerns. He knew all about the high educational standards of
the Hartford High School. He had heard of the Hotel Heublein, and of the
steel tower built by its proprietor on the highest point of Talcott
Mountain--had already arranged to have this tower used for wireless
communication between Hartford and the German fleet. He knew exactly how
many Germans, Italians, and Swedes there were in Hartford, exactly how
many spans there were in the new three-million-dollar bridge across the
Connecticut. He looked forward with pleasure to occupying as his Hartford
headquarters the former home on Farmington Avenue of Mark Twain, whose
works he had enjoyed for years.

“You know Mark Twain was a great friend of my father’s,” said the Crown
Prince. “I remember how my father laughed, one evening at the palace in
Berlin, when Mark Twain told us the story of ‘The Jumping Frog of
Calaveras County.’ It’s rather a pity that afterward Mark--but never mind
that.”

“Your Imperial Highness has a wonderful memory for details,” I remarked.

“That is nothing,” he smiled. “It’s our business to know these things;
that is why we are here. We must know more about New England than the New
Englanders themselves. For example, ask me something.”

“Does your Imperial Highness--” I began. But he stopped me with a jolly
laugh. I can still see the eager, boyish face under its flashing helmet,
and the slim, erect figure in its blue-and-silver uniform.

“Never mind the Imperial Highness,” he said. “Just ask some
questions--any question about Hartford.”

“The insurance companies?” I suggested.

“Ah! Of course I know that. We considered the insurance companies in
fixing the indemnity. Hartford is the richest city in America in
proportion to her population. Let’s see. Of her life insurance companies,
the Aetna has assets of about a hundred and twenty million dollars; the
Travellers’ about a hundred million; the Connecticut Mutual about seventy
million; the Phoenix Mutual about forty million--besides half a dozen
small-fry fire insurance companies. We’re letting them off easily with
twenty million dollars indemnity. Don’t you think so, Mr. Langston?”

This informal talk continued for some time, and I found the Prince
possessed of equally accurate and detailed information regarding other
New England cities. It was positively uncanny. He inquired about the
Bancroft Japanese collection in Worcester, Massachusetts, and wanted to
know the number of women students at Wellesley College. He asked if I had
seen the portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds at the Athenaeum in Providence.
He had full details about the United States Armory at Springfield, and he
asked many questions about the Yale-Harvard boat races at New London,
most of which I was, fortunately, able to answer.

Frederick William was curious to know what had given Newport its great
popularity as a summer resort, and asked me to compare the famous
cottages of the Vanderbilts, the Belmonts, the Astors, along the cliffs,
with well-known country houses in England. He knew that Siasconset on
Nantucket Island was pronounced “Sconset,” and he had read reports on
marine biology from Woods Hole. He even knew the number of watches made
at Waltham every year, and the number of shoes made at Lynn.

I was emboldened by the Crown Prince’s good humour and friendly manner to
ask the favour of an interview for publication in the London _Times_,
and, to my great satisfaction, this was granted the next day when we were
settled in our Hartford quarters, with the result that I gained high
commendation; in fact my interview not only made a sensation in England,
but was cabled back to the United States and reprinted all over America.
Needless to say, it caused bitter resentment in both countries against
Frederick William.

“The responsibility for the present war between Germany and the United
States must be borne by England,” he said in this memorable utterance.
“It was the spirit of hatred against Germany spread through the world by
England and especially spread through America that made the United States
unwilling to deal with the Imperial government in a fair and friendly
way, touching our trade and colonising aspirations in South America and
Mexico.

“We Germans regard this as a most astonishing and deplorable thing, that
the American people have been turned against us by British
misrepresentations. Why should the United States trust England? What has
England ever done for the United States? Who furnished the South with
arms and ammunition and with blockade runners during the Civil War?
England! Who placed outrageous restrictions upon American commerce during
the great European war and, in direct violation of International law,
prohibited America from sending foodstuffs and cotton to Germany?
England!

“What harm has Germany ever done to the United States? Turn over the
pages of history. Remember brave General Steuben, a veteran of Frederick
the Great, drilling with Washington’s soldiers at Valley Forge. Remember
the German General De Kalb who fell pierced by red-coat balls and
bayonets at the battle of Camden. Remember General Herckheimer with his
band of German farmers who fought and died for American independence at
the battle of Oriskany.

“Then go to Greenwood cemetery and look at the graves of German soldiers,
rows and rows of them, who gave their lives loyally for the Union at
Antietam, at Bull Run and at Gettysburg.

“The United States is a great nation with vast resources,” he went on,
“but these have been largely wasted, owing to the inefficiency and
corruption inevitable in all democracies.”

“Your Imperial Highness does not think much of American efficiency?”

The prince threw back his head with a snort of contemptuous amusement.

“Ha! What can one expect from a government like yours? A government of
incompetents, politicians, office seekers.”

“I beg your pardon,” I protested.

“I do not mean to offend you,” he laughed, “but hasn’t the whole world
known for years that America was utterly defenceless? Haven’t you
Americans known it since 1914? Haven’t you read it in all your
newspapers? Hasn’t it been shouted at you from the housetops by all your
leading men?

“And yet your senators, your congressmen, your presidents and their
cabinet officers did nothing about it, or very little. Is that what you
call efficiency? America remained lacking in all that makes for military
preparedness, did she not? And she tried to be a world power and defend
the Monroe doctrine! She told Germany in 1915 what Germany might do with
her submarines and what she might not do. Ha! We were at a disadvantage
then, but we remembered! You, with your third-rate navy and your
tenth-rate army, told us what we might do! Well, you see where your
efficiency has brought you.”

I sat silent until this storm should pass, and was just making bold to
speak when the prince continued:

“Do you know where America made her great mistake? Oh, what a chance you
had and missed it! Why did you not declare war on Germany after our
invasion of Belgium? Or after the sinking of the _Lusitania?_ Or after
the sinking of the _Arabic?_ You had your justification and, with your
money and resources, you could have changed the course of the great war.
That is what we feared in Berlin. We were powerless to hurt you then and
we knew you would have time to get ready. Yes, if America had gone into
the war in 1915, she would be the greatest power on earth to-day instead
of being a conquered province.”

These words hurt.

“America is a long way from being a conquered province,” I retorted.

He shook his head good-naturedly, whereupon I resolved to control my
temper. It would be folly to offend the prince and thus lose my chance to
secure an interview of international importance, which this proved to be.

“We hold New York already,” he continued. “Within three weeks we shall
hold New England. Within three months we shall hold your entire Atlantic
seaboard.”

“We may win back our lost territory,” said I.

“Never. We are conquerors. We will stay here exactly as the Manchu
conquerors stayed in China. Exactly as the Seljuk conquerors stayed in
Asia Minor. Your military strength is broken. Your fleet will be
destroyed when it reaches the Caribbean. How can you drive us out?”

“Our population is over a hundred million.”

“China’s population is over three hundred million and a handful of
Japanese rule her. Remember, America is not like Russia with her heart
deep inland. The military heart of America lies within a radius of 180
miles from New York City and we hold it, or soon will. In that small
strip, reaching from Boston to Delaware Bay, are situated nine-tenths of
the war munition factories of the United States, the Springfield Armory,
the Watervliet Arsenal, the Picatinny Arsenal, the Frankfort Arsenal, the
Dupont powder works, the Bethlehem steel works, and all these will
shortly be in our hands. How can you take them from us? How can you get
along without them?”

“We can build other munition factories in the West.”

“That will take a year or more, in which time we shall have fortified the
whole Appalachian Mountain system from Florida to the St. Lawrence, so
that no army can ever break through. Do you see?”

The prince paused with a masterful smile and played with a large signet
ring on his third finger.

“Surely Your Imperial Highness does not think that Germany can conquer
the whole of America?”

“Of course not, at least not for many years. We are content with your
Atlantic seaboard, the garden spot of the earth in climate and resources.
We shall hold this region and develop it along broad lines of German
efficiency and German _kultur._ What wonderful improvements we will make!
How we will use the opportunities you have wasted!

“Ha! Let me give you one instance among many of your incredible
inefficiency. Those disappearing carriages of your coast defence guns! I
suppose they were the pet hobby of some politician with an interest in
their manufacture, but Gott in Himmel! what foolishness! The guns
themselves are good enough, but the carriages allow them an elevation
of only ten percent against a thirty percent elevation that is possible
for guns of equal calibre on our battleships, which means that our
twelve-inch guns outrange yours by a couple of miles simply because we
can fire them at a higher angle.”

“You mean that one of your super-dreadnoughts--”

“Exactly. One of our super-dreadnoughts can lie off Rockaway Beach
and drop shells from her twelve-inch guns into Union Square, and the
twelve-inch guns of your harbour forts, handicapped by their stupid
carriages, could never touch her.”

The conversation now turned to other subjects and presently the prince
was led by enthusiasm or arrogance to make a series of statements that
gave extraordinary importance to my interview, since they enraged the
whole Anglo-Saxon world, particularly our Western and Middle Western
states. Fortunately I submitted my manuscript to Frederick William before
cabling the interview to London, so there was no danger of his
repudiating my words.

With brutal frankness this future ruler of a nation maintained that
against German arms America must now go down to defeat just as England
went down to partial defeat in 1917 and for the same unchangeable reason
that the fittest among nations inevitably survive.

“Ask your readers in the London Times, Mr. Langston, why it was that in
the fall of 1915 Germany had been able to put into the field nine million
fully equipped, highly efficient soldiers, whereas England, with nearly
the same population, counting her white colonies, had been able to send
out only two and a half million, a third of these being physically
defective? Why was that?

“Was it lack of guns and ammunition? Lack of officers and training?
Partly so, but something else was lacking, I mean patriotism among the
English masses that would give them the desire to fight for England, also
a high standard of physical excellence that would make them able to fight
effectively and to endure the hardships of the trenches.

“Now why should there be more patriotism in Germany than in England? Why
should the masses of Germany excel the masses of England in physical
vigour?

“I will tell you why, and the answer applies in some degree to America;
it is because the German system of government is better calculated to
create patriotism and physical vigour, just as it is better calculated to
create an efficient war machine. In Germany we have concentration of
power, a benevolent paternalism that knows the needs of the people and
supplies them whether the people wish it or not. For example, in Germany
we have to a great extent abolished poverty and such degrading slum
conditions as prevail in English and American cities. We know that slums
lead to drink, vice and physical unfitness. We know that we must kill the
slums or see the slums kill efficiency and kill patriotism.

“In Germany we hold the capitalist class within strict bounds. We allow
no such heaping up of huge fortunes as are common in America through the
exploitation of the weak by the strong. We Germans protect the weak and
make them stronger, but you English and Americans make them weaker by
oppressing them. You make slaves of children in a thousand factories,
crushing out their strength and their hope, so that a few more of you can
become millionaires. Do you think those children, grown to manhood, will
fight for you very loyally or very effectively when you call on them to
rally to the flag? What does such a flag mean to them?”

“What does the American flag mean to thousands of American steel workers
forced to toil at the furnaces twelve hours a day for two dollars? Twelve
hours a day and often seven days a week lest they starve! Why should
these men fight for a flag that has waved, unashamed, over their misery
and over the unearned and undeserved fortunes of their task masters,
Andrew Carnegie and J. P. Morgan? Why should the down-trodden miners in
Colorado fight to perpetuate a John D. Rockefeller system of government?”

“What does Your Imperial Highness mean by a John D. Rockefeller system of
government?”

“I mean the English and American system of individualism gone mad--every
man for himself and the devil take the hindermost. The result is a
trampling on the many by the few, a totally unfair division of the
products of toil and such wicked extremes of poverty and riches as are
familiar in London and New York but are unknown in Germany.

“In Germany the masses are well housed and well nourished. In all our
cities cheap and wholesome pleasures abound, music, beer gardens, great
parks with playgrounds and dancing pavilions. It is literally true that
work at fair wages with reasonable hours is provided for every German
citizen who is able to work. And those unable to work are taken care
of,--pensions for the aged, homes for the disabled, state assistance for
poor mothers. There are no paupers, no factory slaves in Germany. The
central government sees to this, not only as a matter of humanity, but as
good policy. We know that every German citizen will fight for the German
flag because he is proud of it and has personal reason to be grateful to
it, since it represents fair play, large opportunity, a satisfactory life
for him and his children.”

The prince maintained that here were new elements in the problem of
Germany’s conquest of America. Not only were the invaders more valiant
warriors possessed of a better fighting machine, but they came with a
moral and spiritual superiority that must make strong appeal to Americans
themselves.

“After yielding to us by force of arms,” he went on, “your people will
come to welcome us when they see how much better off, how much happier
they will be under our higher civilisation. Mr. Langston, we understand
your nation better than it understands itself. I assure you, Americans
are sick of their selfish materialism, they are ashamed of the degrading
money worship that has stifled their national spirit.”

Here I challenged him angrily.

“Do you mean to say that we have no national spirit in America?”

“Not as Germans understand it. You live for material things, for
pleasures, for business. You are a race of money schemers, money
grovellers, lacking in high ideals and genuine spiritual life without
which patriotism is an empty word. Who ever heard of an American working
for his country unless he was paid for it?

“Think what America did in the great war! Why was your president so
wrought up in 1915 when he assailed Germany with fine phrases? Was it
because we had violated Belgium? No! When that happened he had nothing to
say, although the United States, equally with England, was a signatory of
the Hague Conference that guaranteed Belgium’s integrity. Why did not
your president protest then? Why did he not use his fine phrases then?
Because the United States had suffered no material injury through
Belgium’s misfortune. On the contrary, the United States was sure to gain
much of the trade that Belgium lost. And that was what he cared about,
commercial advantage. You were quick enough to protect your trade and
your money interests. You were ready enough to do anything for gold,
ready enough, by the sale of war munitions, to bring death and misery
upon half of Europe so long as you got gold from the other half. High
ideals! National spirit! There they are!”



CHAPTER IX


BOSTON OFFERS DESPERATE AND BLOODY RESISTANCE TO THE INVADERS

Our wing of the advancing German army remained in Hartford for four days,
at the end of which all signs of disorder had ceased; in fact, there was
little disorder at any time. The lesson of New Haven’s resistance had
been taken to heart, and there was the discouraging knowledge that a row
of German six-inch siege-guns were trained on the city from the heights
of Elizabeth Park, their black muzzles commanding the grey towers and
golden dome of State House, the J. Pierpont Morgan Memorial, the gleaming
white new City Hall, the belching chimneys of the Underwood typewriter
works, and the brown pile of Trinity College.

There was the further restraining fact that leading citizens of Hartford
were held as hostages, their lives in peril, in James J. Goodwin’s
palatial home, among these being ex-Governor Morgan G. Buckley, Mayor
Joseph H. Lawler, Bishop Chauncey B. Brewster, Dr. Flavel S. Luther,
Bishop John J. Nilan, Mrs. Richard M. Bissell, Mrs. Thomas N. Hepburn,
the Rev. Rockwell Harmon Potter, Charles Hopkins Clark, Rolland F.
Andrews, the Rev. Francis Goodwin, Thomas J. Spellacy, and Sol
Sontheimer.

So the invaders’ march through New England continued. It is a pitiful
story. What could Connecticut and Massachusetts do? With all their wealth
and intelligence, with all their mechanical ingenuity, with all their
pride and patriotism, what could they do, totally unprepared, more
helpless than Belgium, against the most efficient army in Europe?

Three times, between Hartford and Springfield, unorganised bands of
Americans, armed with shotguns and rifles, lay in ambush for the
advancing enemy and fired upon them. These men declared that they would
die before they would stand by tamely and see the homes and fields of New
England despoiled by the invader. Whereupon the Germans announced, by
means of proclamations showered upon towns and villages from their
advance-guard of aeroplanes, that for every German soldier thus killed by
Americans in ambush a neighbouring town or village would be burned by
fire bombs dropped from the sky. And they carried out this threat to the
letter, so that for every act of resistance by the fathers and brothers
and sons of New England there resulted only greater suffering and
distress for the women and the children.

The average man, especially one with a wife and children, is easily cowed
when he has no hope; and presently all resistance ceased. What feeble
opposition there was in the first week dwindled to almost nothing in the
second week and to less than nothing in the third week. Stamford paid two
million dollars in gold, Bridgeport five million, New Haven five million,
Hartford twenty million, Fall River three million, Springfield five
million, Worcester two million, Providence ten million, Newport fifty
million. The smaller cities got off with half a million each, and some of
the towns paid as little as one hundred thousand dollars. But every
community paid something, and the total amount taken from New England,
including a hundred million from New Hampshire, a hundred million from
Vermont, and a hundred million from Maine, was eight hundred million
dollars, about a third of which was in gold.

With a battle-front fifty or seventy-five miles long, von Kluck’s forces
strolled across this fertile and populous region, living off the land,
leaving small holding forces with artillery at every important point, a
few hundred or a few thousand, while the main army swept relentlessly and
resistlessly on. It was a delightful four weeks’ picnic for von Kluck and
his men; and at the end of four weeks everything in New England had
fallen before them up to the city of Boston, which had been left for the
last. _And the total German losses in killed and wounded were less than
twenty!_

On July 2, General von Kluck’s army, sweeping forward unopposed, reached
the western and southwestern suburbs of Boston, passing through Newton
and Brookline, and making a detour to avoid ruining the beautiful golf
links where Ouimet won his famous victory over Ray and Vardon. This
sportsmanlike consideration was due to the fact that several of the
German officers and the Crown Prince himself were enthusiastic golfers.

Meantime there was panic in the city. For days huge crowds had swarmed
through Boston’s great railway stations, fleeing to Maine and Canada; and
across the Charles River bridge there had passed an endless stream of
automobiles bearing away rich families with their jewels and their
silver. Among them were automobile trucks from the banks, laden with tons
of gold. No boats left the harbour through fear of a grim German
battleship that lay outside, plainly visible from the millionaire homes
of Nahant and Manchester.

Even now there was talk of resistance, and German Taubes looked down upon
a mass meeting of ten thousand frantic citizens gathered in Mechanics
Hall on Huntington Avenue; but prudent counsels prevailed. How could
Boston resist without soldiers or ammunition or field artillery? Brooklyn
had resisted, and now lay in ruins. New Haven had tried to resist, and
what had come of it?

At three o’clock on this day of sorrow, with banners flying and bands
playing, the German forces--horse, foot, and artillery--entered the
Massachusetts capital in two great columns, the one marching down Beacon
Street, past the homes of Oliver Wendell Holmes and Julia Ward Howe, the
other advancing along Commonwealth Avenue, past the white-columned
Harvard Club, past the statues of Alexander Hamilton and William Lloyd
Garrison, on under the shade of four rows of elms that give this noble
thoroughfare a resemblance to the Avenue de la Grande Armée in Paris.

It was a perfect summer’s day. The sun flashed from the golden dome of
the State House on the hill over Boston Common, and from the great white
Custom House tower that rose impressively in the distance above the green
of the Public Gardens. Boston looked on, dumb with shame and stifled
rage, as the invaders took possession of the city and ran up their flags,
red, white, and black, above the Old South Meeting House on Washington
Street, where Benjamin Franklin was baptised, and above the sacred, now
dishonoured, shaft of the Bunker Hill Monument.

Hostages were taken, as usual, these including Major Henry L. Higginson,
President A. Lawrence Lowell of Harvard University, Major James M.
Curley, Edward A. Filene, Margaret Deland, William A. Paine, Ellery
Sedgwick, Mrs. John L. Gardner, Charles W. Eliot, Louis D. Brandeis,
Bishop William Lawrence, Amy Lowell, T. Jefferson Coolidge, Thomas W.
Lawson, Guy Murchie, and Cardinal O’Connell.

A proclamation was made in the _Transcript_ (now forced to be the
official German organ and the only newspaper that was allowed to appear
in Boston) that these prominent persons would be held personally
responsible for any public disorder or for any failure of the city to
furnish the army of occupation with all necessary food and supplies.

On the night of occupation there were scenes of violence, with rioting
and looting in various parts of Boston, notably in Washington Street and
Tremont Street, where shops were wrecked by mobs from the South End,
several thousand of the unruly foreign element, crazed with drink and
carrying knives. Against this drunken rabble the American police, sullen
and disorganised, could do nothing or would do nothing; and the situation
was becoming desperate, when German troops advanced along Washington
Street, firing into the crowd and driving back the looters, who surged
through Winter Street, a frantic, terrified mass, and scattered over
Boston Common.

Here, in front of the Park Street Church, another huge mob of citizens
had gathered--five thousand wildly patriotic Irishmen. Armed with clubs,
rifles, and pistols, and madly waving the Stars and Stripes, they cursed,
cheered, and yelled out insults to the Germans. Suddenly a company of
German soldiers with machine-guns appeared on the high ground in front of
the State House. Three times a Prussian officer, standing near the St.
Gaudens Shaw Memorial, shouted orders to the crowd to disperse; but the
Irishmen only jeered at him.

“They want it; let them have it,” said the Prussian. “Fire!”

And three hundred fell before the blast of rifles and machine-guns.

At which the mob of Irish patriots went entirely mad, and, with yells of
hatred and defiance, swarmed straight up the hill at the battery that was
slaughtering them, shouting: “To hell with ‘em!” “Come on, boys!”
 charging so fiercely and valiantly, that the Germans were swept from
their position, and for a short time a victorious American mob held the
approaches to the State House.

Alas, it was for only a short time! The enemy quickly brought forward
reinforcements in overwhelming strength, and an hour later there were
only dead, wounded and prisoners to tell of this loyal but hopeless
effort.

In other parts of the city during this night of terror there were similar
scenes of bloodshed, the Germans inflicting terrible punishment upon the
people, innocent and guilty suffering alike for every act of disobedience
or resistance. There were a few cases of sniping from houses; and for
these a score of men, seized indiscriminately in the crowds, were hanged
from windows of the offending or suspected buildings. As a further lesson
to the city, two of the hostages, chosen by lot, were led out into the
Public Gardens the next morning at sunrise and shot near the statue of
Edward Everett Hale.

Machine-guns were now placed on the high ground before the Soldiers’
Monument and at other strategic points, and ten thousand soldiers were
encamped on Boston Common, the main part of the army being withdrawn,
after this overwhelming show of force, to Franklin Park on the outskirts,
where heavy siege-guns were set up.

The _Transcript_ appeared that day with a black-lettered proclamation,
signed by General von Kluck, to the effect that at the next disorder five
hostages would be shot, and six beautiful buildings--the State House, the
Custom House, the Boston Public Library, the Opera House, the Boston
Art Museum, and the main building of the Massachusetts School of
Technology--would be wrecked by shells. This reduced the city to absolute
submission.

Mrs. John L. Gardner’s fine Italian palace in the Fenway, with its wealth
of art treasures, was turned into a staff headquarters and occupied by
the Crown Prince, General von Kluck, and Count Zeppelin. The main body of
officers established themselves in the best hotels and clubs, the Copley
Plaza, the Touraine, the Parker House, the Somerset, the St. Botolph, the
City Club, the Algonquin, the Harvard Club, paying liberally for the
finest suites and the best food by the simple method of signing checks to
be redeemed later by the city of Boston.

Non-commissioned officers made themselves comfortable in smaller hotels
and in private houses and boarding-houses to which they were assigned. A
popular eating-place was Thompson’s Spa, where a crush of brass-buttoned
German soldiers lunched every day, perched on high stools along the
counters, and trying to ogle the pretty waitresses, who did not hide
their aversion.

It is worthy of note that the Tavern Club was burned by its own members
to save from desecration a spot hallowed by memories of Oliver Wendell
Holmes, James Russell Lowell, Charles Eliot Norton, and George William
Curtis.

I must mention another instance of the old-time indomitable New England
spirit that came to my knowledge during these sad days. The Germans
levied upon the city of Boston an indemnity of three hundred million
dollars, this to be paid at the rate of three million dollars a day; and
on the morning of July 4, two of von Kluck’s staff officers, accompanied
by a military escort, marched down State Street into the now deserted
region of banks and vaults and trust companies, to arrange for the
regular payment of this sum. Entering the silent halls of a great banking
house, they came to a rear office with the door locked. A summons to open
being unanswered, they broke down this door; whereupon a shot, fired from
within, killed the first soldier who crossed the threshold. A German
volley followed, and, when the smoke cleared away, there sat a prominent
Boston financier, his father’s Civil War musket clutched in his hands and
the look of a hero in his dying eyes. All alone, this uncompromising
figure of a man had waited there in his private office ready to defy the
whole German army and die for his rights and his convictions.



CHAPTER X


LORD KITCHENER VISITS AMERICA AND DISCUSSES OUR MILITARY PROBLEMS

I was standing with Count Zeppelin in the doorway of Mrs. John L.
Gardner’s Fenway palace when the news of the great sea horror reached
Boston. The German submarine U-68, scouting off the coast of Maine,
had sunk the American liner _Manhattan_, the largest passenger vessel
in the world, as she raced toward Bar Harbor with her shipload of
non-combatants. Eighteen hundred and sixty-three men, women, and children
went down with the ship. No warning had been given. No chance had been
offered for women or children or neutral passengers to escape. The
disaster duplicated the wrecking of the _Lusitania_ in 1915, but it
exceeded it in loss of human life. The American captain and all his men
shared the fate of the passengers intrusted to their care.

In Boston the effect on the German officers and men was unbelievable.
Tremont and Boylston and Washington streets, echoing with cheers of the
exulting conquerors, resembled the night of a Harvard-Yale football game
when Brickley used to play for Cambridge University. The citizens of the
big town, their senses deadened by their own disaster, received the news,
and the ghastly celebration that followed it, without any real interest.
The fact that an ex-Mayor of Boston and the son of the present Governor
were among those that perished failed to rouse them. Boston, mentally as
well as physically, was in the grip of the enemy.

That this was just the effect the Germans planned to produce is shown by
General von Kluck’s own words. In an interview that he gave me for the
London _Times_, after the occupation of Boston on July 2, 1921, General
von Kluck said:

“The way to end a war quickly is to make the burden of it oppressive upon
the people. It was on this principle that General Sherman acted in his
march from Atlanta to the sea. It was on this principle that General
Grant acted in his march from Washington to Richmond. Grant said he would
fight it out on those lines if it took all summer--meaning lines of
relentless oppression. In modern war a weak enemy like Belgium or like
New England, which is far weaker than Belgium was in 1914, must be
crushed immediately. Think of the bloodshed that would have stained the
soil of Connecticut and Massachusetts if we had not spread terror before
us. As it is, New England has suffered very little from the German
occupation, and in a very short time everything will be going on as
usual.”

The veteran warrior paused, and added with a laugh: “Better than usual.”

As a matter of fact, within a week Boston had resumed its ordinary life
and activities. Business was good, factories were busy, and the theatres
were crowded nightly, especially Keith’s, where the latest military
photo-play by Thomas Dixon and Charles T. Dazey--with Mary Pickford as
the heroine and Charley Chaplin as the comedy relief--was enjoyed
immensely by German officers.

As to the commerce of Boston Harbor, it was speedily re-established, with
ships of all nations going and coming, undisturbed by the fact that it
was now the German flag on German warships that they saluted.

I received instructions from my paper about this time to leave New
England and join General Wood’s forces, which had crossed the Delaware
into Pennsylvania, where they were battling desperately with von
Hindenburg’s much stronger army. On the day following my arrival at the
American headquarters, I learned that Lord Kitchener had come over from
England to follow the fighting as an eye-witness; and I was fortunate
enough to obtain an interview with his lordship, who remembered me in
connection with his Egyptian campaigns.

“The United States is where England would have been in 1914 without her
fleet,” said Lord Kitchener.

“Where is that?”

“If England had been invaded by a German army in 1914,” replied the great
organiser gravely, “she would have been wiped off the map. It was
England’s fleet that saved her. And, even so, we had a hard time of it.
Everything was lacking--officers, men, uniforms, ammunition, guns,
horses, saddles, horse blankets, everything except our fleet.”

A sudden light burned in Lord Kitchener’s strange eyes, and he added
earnestly: “There is something more than that. In 1914 Germany was
wonderfully prepared in material things, but her greatest advantage over
all other nations, except Japan, lay in her dogged devotion to her own
ideals. She may have been wrong, as we think, but she believed in
herself. There was nothing like it in England, and there is nothing like
it in America. The German masses, to the last man, woman, and child, were
inspired to give all that they had, their lives included, for the Empire.
In England there was more selfishness and self-indulgence. We had labour
troubles, strike troubles, drink troubles; and finally, as you know, in
1916 we were forced to adopt conscription. It will be the same story here
in America.”

“Don’t you think that America will ultimately win?”

Lord Kitchener hesitated.

“I don’t know. Germany holds New York and Boston and is marching on
Philadelphia. Think what that means! New York is the business capital of
the nation. It is hard to conceive of the United States without New
York.”

“The Americans will get New York back, won’t they?”

“How? When? It is true you have a population of eighty millions west of
the Allegheny Mountains, and somehow, some day, their American spirit and
their American genius ought to conquer; but it’s going to be a job.
Patriotism is not enough. Money is not enough. Potential resources are
not enough. It is a question of doing the essential thing before it is
too late. We found that out in England in 1916. If America could have
used her potential resources when the Germans landed on Long Island, she
would have driven her enemies into the sea within a week; but the thing
was not possible. You might as well expect a gold mine in Alaska to stop
a Wall Street panic.”

I found that Lord Kitchener had very definite ideas touching great social
changes that must come in America following this long and exhausting war,
assuming that we finally came out of it victorious.

“America will be a different land after this war,” he said. “You will
have to reckon as never before with the lowly but enlightened millions
who have done the actual fighting. The United States of the future must
be regarded as a vast-co-operative estate to be managed for the benefit
of all who dwell in it, not for the benefit of a privileged few. And
America may well follow the example of Germany, as England has since the
end of the great war in 1919, in using the full power of state to lessen
her present iniquitous extremes of poverty and wealth, which weaken
patriotism, and in compelling a division of the products of toil that is
really fair.

“I warn you that America will escape the gravest labour trouble with the
possibility of actual revolution only by admitting, as England has
admitted, that from now on labour has the whip hand over capital and must
be placated by immense concessions. You must either establish state
control in many industries that are now privately owned and managed and
establish state ownership in all public utilities or you must expect to
see your whole system of government swing definitely toward a socialistic
regime. The day of the multi-millionaire is over.”

I found another distinguished Englishman at General Wood’s headquarters,
Lord Northcliffe, owner of the London _Times_, and I had the unusual
experience of interviewing my own employer for his own newspaper. As
usual, Lord Northcliffe took sharp issue with Lord Kitchener on several
points. His hatred of the Germans was so intense that he could see no
good in them.

“The idea that Germany will be able to carry this invasion of America to
a successful conclusion is preposterous,” he declared. “Prussian
supermen! What are they? Look at their square heads with no backs to them
and their outstanding ears! Gluttons of food! Guzzlers of drink! A race
of bullies who treat their women like squaws and drudges and then cringe
to every policeman and strutting officer who makes them goose-step before
him. Bismarck called them a nation of house-servants, and knew that
in racial aptitude they are and always will be hopelessly inferior to
Anglo-Saxons.

“Conquer America? They can no more do it than they could conquer England.
They can make you suffer, yes, as they made us suffer; they can fill you
with rage and shame to find yourselves utterly unprepared in this hour of
peril, eaten up with commercialism and pacifism just as we were. But
conquer this great nation with its infinite resources and its splendid
racial inheritance--never!

“The Germans despise America just as they despised England. John Bull was
an effete old plutocrat whose sons and daughters were given up to sport
and amusement. The Kaiser, in his famous Aix-la-Chapelle order, referred
scornfully to our ‘contemptible little army.’ He was right, it was a
contemptible little army, but by the end of 1917 we had five million
fully equipped men in the field and in the summer of 1918 the Kaiser saw
his broken armies flung back to the Rhine by these same contemptible
Englishmen and their brave allies. There will be the same marvellous
change here when the tortured American giant stirs from his sleep of
indifference and selfishness. Then the Prussian superman will learn
another lesson!”



CHAPTER XI


HEROIC ACT OF BARBARA WEBB SAVES AMERICAN ARMY AT THE BATTLE OF TRENTON

Coming now to the campaign in New Jersey, let me recall that on the
evening of June 18, American scouting aeroplanes, under Squadron
Commander Harry Payne Whitney, reported that a strong force of Germans,
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, had occupied the heights above
Bordentown, New Jersey, and were actively proceeding to build pontoons
across the Delaware. It seemed clear that von Hindenburg was preparing to
cross the river at the very point where Washington made his historic
crossing in 1776; and General Wood proceeded to attack the enemy’s
position with his artillery, being assisted by four light-draught
gunboats from the Philadelphia navy-yard, which lay in the deepened
channel at the head of tide-water and dropped shells inside the enemy’s
lines. The Germans replied vigorously, and a smart engagement at long
range ensued, lasting until darkness fell. We fully expected that the
next day would see a fierce battle fought here for the command of the
river. No one dreamed that this was a trap set by von Hindenburg.

As a matter of fact, the crossing movement from above Bordentown was a
feint in which not more than 8,000 Germans were engaged, their main army
being gathered twenty miles to the north, near Lambertville, for the real
crossing. And only the prompt heroic action of three young Americans, two
boys and a girl, saved our forces from immediate disaster.

The heroine of this adventure was Barbara Webb, a beautiful girl of
sixteen, who, with her brother Dominick and their widowed mother, lived
in a lonely farm-house on Goat Hill, back of Lambertville. They had a boy
friend, Marshall Frissell, in Brownsburg, Pennsylvania, on the other side
of the river, and Marshall and Dominick had learned to wigwag signals, in
boy-scout fashion, back and forth across the Delaware.

It seems that, on this memorable night, the brother and sister discovered
a great force of Germans building pontoons about a mile below the wrecked
Lambertville bridge. Whereupon Dominick Webb, knowing that all telegraph
and telephone wires were cut, leaped upon a horse and set out to carry
the news to General Wood. But he was shot through the thigh by a Prussian
sentry, and, hours later, fainting from loss of blood, he returned to the
farm-house and told his sister that he had failed in his effort.

Then Barbara, as day was breaking, climbed to the crest of Goat Hill, and
began to signal desperately toward Brownsburg, in the hope that Marshall
Frissell might see and understand. For an hour she waved, but all in
vain. Marshall was asleep. Still she waved; and finally, by a miracle of
faith, the boy was roused from his slumbers, drawn to his window as the
sun arose, and, looking out, saw Barbara’s familiar flag wigwagging
frantically on the heights of Lambertville three miles away. Then he
answered, and Barbara cried out in her joy.

Just then a German rifle spoke from the riverbank below, a thousand yards
away, where the enemy were watching, and a bullet pierced the Stars and
Stripes as the flag fluttered over that slim girlish figure silhouetted
against the glory of the eastern sky. Then another bullet came, and
another. The enemy had seen Barbara’s manoeuvre. She was betraying an
important military secret, and she must die.

Wait! With a hostile army below her, not a mile distant, this fearless
American girl went on wigwagging her message--letter by letter, slowly,
painstakingly, for she was imperfect in the code. As she swept the flag
from side to side, signalling, a rain of bullets sang past her. Some cut
her dress and some snipped her flowing hair; and finally one shattered
the flag-staff in her hands. Whereupon, like Barbara Frietchie of old,
this fine young Barbara caught up the banner she loved, and went on
waving the news that might save her country, while a hundred German
soldiers fired at her.

And presently a wonderful thing happened. The power of her devotion
touched the hearts of these rough men,--for they were brave
themselves,--and, lowering their guns, with one accord, they cheered this
little grey-eyed, dimpled farmer’s girl with her hair blowing in the
breeze, until the Jersey hills rang.

And now the lad in Brownsburg rose to the situation. There were Germans
on the opposite bank, a great host of them, making ready to cross the
Delaware. General Wood must know this at once--he must come at once. They
say that freckle-faced Marshall Frissell, fifteen years old, on a mad
motorcycle, covered the twenty miles to Ft. Hill, Pa., where General Wood
had his headquarters, in fifteen minutes, and that by seven o’clock troop
trains and artillery trains were moving toward the north, winding along
the Delaware like enormous snakes, as Leonard Wood, answering the
children’s call, hastened to the rescue.

I dwell upon these minor happenings because they came to my knowledge,
and because the main events of the four days’ battle of Trenton are
familiar to all. In spite of the overwhelming superiority of the Germans
in men and artillery, the American army, spread along a twelve-mile front
on the hills opposite Lambertville, made good use of their defensive
position, and for three days held back the enemy from crossing the river.
In fact, it was only on the evening of the third day, June 21, that von
Hindenburg’s engineers succeeded in completing their pontoon line to the
Pennsylvania shore. Again and again the floating bridge was destroyed by
a concentrated shell fire from American batteries on the ridge a mile and
a half back from the river.

American aeroplanes contributed effectively to this work of resistance by
dropping explosive bombs upon the pontoons; but, unfortunately, German
aeroplanes outnumbered the defenders at least four to one, and soon
achieved a mastery of the sky.

A brilliant air victory was gained by Jess Willard, volunteer pilot of a
swift and powerful Burgess machine, over three Taubes, the latter
attacking fiercely while the champion prize-fighter circled higher and
higher, manoeuvring for a position of advantage. I shall never forget the
thrill I felt when Willard swooped down suddenly from a height of eight
thousand feet, and, by a dangerous turn, brought his machine directly
over the nearest German flier, at the same time dropping a fire bomb that
destroyed this aeroplane and hurled the wreck of it straight down upon
the two Taubes underneath, striking one and capsizing the other with the
rush of air. So the great Jess, by his daring strategy, hurled three of
the enemy down to destruction, and escaped safely from the swarm of
pursuers.

On the fourth day, the Germans--thanks to an advantage of three to one in
artillery pieces--succeeded in crossing the Delaware; and after that the
issue of the battle was never in doubt, the American forces being
outnumbered and outclassed. Two-thirds of General Wood’s army were either
militia, insufficiently equipped and half trained, or raw recruits. There
were fifteen thousand of the latter who had volunteered within a
fortnight, loyal patriots ready to die for their country, but without the
slightest ability to render efficient military service. These volunteers
included clerks, business men, professional men from the cities of New
Jersey and Pennsylvania, thousands of workmen from great factories like
the Roebling wire works, thousands of villagers and farmers, all blazing
with zeal, but none of them able to handle a high-power Springfield rifle
or operate a range-finder or make the adjustments for the time-fuse of a
shell.

[Illustration: THE PEOPLE KNEW THE ANSWER OF VON HINDENBURG. THEY HAD
READ IT, AS HAD ALL THE WORLD FOR MILES AROUND, IN THE CATACLYSM OF THE
PLUNGING TOWERS. NEW YORK MUST SURRENDER OR PERISH!]

“They shot away tons of ammunition without hitting anything,” said one of
the American officers to me. “They didn’t know how to use wind-gauges or
elevation-sights. They couldn’t even pull a trigger properly.”

And yet, the Germans suffered heavily in that desperate battle of the
fourth day--partly because they attacked again and again in close
formation and were mowed down by American machine-guns; partly because
General Wood had fortified his position with miles of wire entanglements
through which high-voltage electric currents were sent from the
power-house of the Newtown and Trenton trolley systems in Newtown,
Pennsylvania; and, finally, because the American commander, in an address
to his troops, read at sunset on the eve of battle, had called upon them
in inspiring words to fight for their wives and children, for the
integrity of the nation, for the glory of the old flag.

And they fought until they died. When the battle was over, the Americans
had lost 15,000 out of 70,000, while the Germans lost 12,000 out of
125,000. Von Hindenburg himself admitted that he had never seen such mad,
hopeless, magnificent courage.

Again General Wood faced defeat and the necessity of falling back to a
stronger position. For weeks thousands of labourers had been digging
trenches north of Philadelphia; and now the American army, beaten but
defiant, retreated rapidly and in some disorder through Jenkintown and
Bristol to this new line of intrenchments that spread in fan shape from
the Schuylkill to the Delaware.

It was of the most desperate importance now that word be sent to
Harrisburg and to the mobilisation camp at Gettysburg and to other
recruiting points in the West and South, demanding that all possible
reinforcements be rushed to Philadelphia. As communication by telegraph
and telephone was cut off, General Wood despatched Colonel Horace M.
Reading and Captain William E. Pedrick, officers of the National Guard,
in a swift automobile, with instructions that these calls for help be
flashed _without fail_ from the wireless station in the lofty granite
shaft of the Trenton monument that commemorates Washington’s victory over
the Hessians.

Unfortunately, owing to bad roads and wrecked bridges, these officers
suffered great delay, and only reached the Trenton monument as the German
host, with rolling drums, was marching into the New Jersey capital along
Pennington Avenue, the triumphant way that Washington had followed after
his great victory.

As the invaders reached the little park where the monument stands, they
saw that a wireless station was in operation there, and demanded its
surrender.

Colonel Reading, wishing to gain time (for every minute counted), opened
a glass door and stepped out on the little balcony at the top of the
monument one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. He tried to speak,
but a German officer cut him short. He must surrender instantly or they
would fire.

“Fire and be damned!” shouted the Colonel, and turned to the white-faced
wireless operator inside. “Have you got Harrisburg yet?” he asked. “For
God’s sake, hustle!”

“Just got ‘em,” answered the operator. “I need five minutes to get this
message through.”

Five minutes! The German officer below, red with anger, was calling out
sharp orders. A six-inch gun was set up under the Carolina poplars not a
hundred yards from the monument.

“We’ll show them!” roared the Prussian, as the gun crew drove home a
hundred-pound shell. “Ready!”

“Is that message gone?” gasped Reading.

“Half of it. I need two minutes.”

Two minutes! The officer was aiming the big gun at the base of the
monument, and was just giving the word to fire when the heavy bronze door
swung open, and between the two bronze soldiers appeared Elias A. Smith,
a white-haired veteran, over ninety years old, with a bronze medal on his
breast and the Stars and Stripes wound around his waist.

“I fought in the Civil War!” he cried, in a shrill voice. “Here’s my
medal. Here’s my flag. I’ve been the guardian of the monument for sixteen
years. George Washington’s up there on top, and if you’re going to shoot
him, you can shoot me, too.”

The Germans were so surprised by this venerable apparition that they
stood like stones.

“Hi! Yi!” shouted Colonel Reading. “It’s gone!”

“Hurrah!” echoed the old man. “I was with Grant at Appomattox when Lee
surrendered. Why don’t you fire?”

Then they did fire, and the proud shaft bearing the statue of George
Washington crumbled to earth; and in the ruin of it four brave Americans
perished.



CHAPTER XII


REAR-ADMIRAL THOMAS Q. ALLYN WEIGHS CHANCES OF THE AMERICAN FLEET IN
IMPENDING NAVAL BATTLE

While the main German army pressed on in pursuit of General Wood’s
fleeing forces, a body of ten thousand of the invaders was left behind at
various points in northern New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania to pacify
this region and organise its industries and activities. The Picatinny
arsenal was now running night and day, under the direction of a force of
chemists brought from Germany, turning out shells and cartridges for the
invading army. The great Roebling plant in Trenton was commandeered for
the production of field telephone and telegraph wire, and the Mercer
automobile factory for military motor-trucks and ambulances.

I was astonished at the rapidity with which German engineers repaired
bridges and railroads that had been wrecked by the retreating Americans,
and was assured that the invaders had brought with them from their own
country a full supply of steel spans, beams, girders, trusses, and other
parts necessary for such repairs, down to the individual bolts and pins
for each separate construction. It was an amazing illustration of their
preparedness, and of their detailed knowledge of conditions in America.

Trains were soon running regularly between Jersey City and Trenton, their
operations being put in the hands of two Pennsylvania Railroad officials,
J.B. Fisher, superintendent of the New York division, and Victor Wierman,
superintendent of the Trenton division--these two, with their operating
staffs, being held personally responsible, under pain of death, for the
safe and prompt arrival of troops and supplies.

For the pacification of Trenton the Germans left a force of three
thousand men with artillery encamped in the State Fair grounds near the
capital, and it was announced in the Trenton _Times_ (made the official
German organ) that at the first disorder shells would be fired at the
white marble City Hall, at the State House, with its precious collection
of flags and banners from the Civil and Revolutionary wars, at the Broad
Street National Bank, and at the Public Service building, which stands
where the Hessians surrendered in 1776.

Among hostages taken here by the Germans were R.V. Kuser, head of the
Trenton Brewing Company; General Wilbur F. Sadler, president of the Broad
Street Trust Company; Colonel E. C. Stahl, a Civil War veteran and the
father of Rose Stahl; also the Roman Catholic Bishop James F. McFaul and
the Episcopal Bishop Paul Matthews.

Many Trenton women, including Mrs. Karl G. Roebling, Mrs. Oliphant, wife
of the General, Miss Mabel Hayter, and Mrs. Charles Howell Cook, were
devoted in nursing the wounded who were brought by thousands to the
historic churches of Trenton, used as hospitals, and to the vast Second
Regiment armory.

Several American nurses came into possession of diaries found on wounded
German soldiers, and some of these recorded excesses similar to those
committed in Belgium in 1914.

“On the main street of the town of Dover, New Jersey,” wrote Private
Karmenz, 178th Saxon Regiment, “I saw about fifty citizens shot for
having fired from ambush on our soldiers.”

“Glorious victories in Pennsylvania,” rejoiced Lieutenant A. Aberlein of
the Eighth Bavarian Army Corps. “Our men of softer spirit give the
wounded a bullet of deliverance; the others hack and stab as they may.”

The tribute levied upon Trenton was four million dollars in gold,
recently realised by the State Treasurer from an issue of State bonds to
supply State deficiencies.

German officers made themselves comfortable in the Trenton Club, the
Lotus Club, the Carteret Club, and the Elk Home; also in the Windsor
House, the Trenton House, and the Sterling House. Printed schedules of
rates for food and rooms were posted up, and the proprietors were
notified that they would be punished if they refused to give service at
these rates, just as the German soldiers would be punished if they tried
to evade payment.

Officers of the German headquarters staff occupied Karl G. Roebling’s
show place, with its fine stables, lawns, and greenhouses.

A few days after the battle of Trenton, I received a cable to the effect
that the American fleet had nearly completed its voyage around South
America and had been sighted off Cape St. Roque, the northeastern corner
of Brazil, headed toward the Caribbean Sea. It was known that the German
fleet had been cruising in these waters for weeks, awaiting the enemy’s
arrival, and cutting off their colliers and supply ships from all ports
in Europe and America; and it was now evident that a great naval battle
must occur in the near future.

I took steamer at once for Kingston, Jamaica; and on the evening of my
arrival, July 10, I called on my friend, Rear-Admiral Thomas Q. Allyn of
the United States Navy (now retired), whom I had not seen since our
dramatic meeting at Colon when the Panama Canal was wrecked by the
Germans. I had many questions to ask the Admiral, and we talked until
after midnight.

“I am horribly anxious, Mr. Langston,” said the veteran of Manila. “We
are facing a great crisis. Our ships are going into battle, and within a
few hours we shall know whether the civilian policy at Washington that
has controlled our naval development--the policy that forced me to resign
rather than assume the responsibility for consequences--we shall know
whether that policy was wise or foolish.”

“I did not suspect that you resigned for that reason,” said I.

His face darkened.

“Yes. There had been tension for months. The whole service was
demoralised. Discipline and efficiency were destroyed. As far back as
1914, I testified before the House Committee on Naval Affairs that it
would take five years to make our fleet ready to fight the fleet of any
first-class naval power, and to get our personnel into proper condition.
I said that we were not able to defend the Monroe Doctrine in the
Atlantic, or to force the Open Door of trade in the Pacific. I might as
well have spoken to the winds, and when the order came last April,
against the best naval advice, to take our fleet into the Pacific, I
handed in my resignation.”

“You must be glad you did, in view of what happened.”

“Yes; but--I am thinking of my country. I am thinking of those
unfortunate ships that have come around South America without sufficient
coal or provisions.”

I asked Admiral Allyn how the American fleet compared with the Germans in
number of ships. He shook his head.

“We are far behind them. Nine years ago, in 1912, we stood next to Great
Britain in naval strength; but since then we have steadily fallen back.
Germany has a dozen super-dreadnoughts, ships of over 30,000 tons, while
we have six. Germany has twenty dreadnoughts of from 20,000 to 30,000
tons to our ten. She has four battle-cruisers, while we have none. She
has a hundred destroyers to our twenty-five.”

“I understand that these figures refer to the fleets that are actually
going into battle?”

“Yes. Germany’s entire naval strength is a third more than that. I have
accurate information. You see, our fleet is outclassed.”

“But it will fight?”

“Of course our fleet will fight; but--we can’t get to our base at
Guantánamo--the German fleet blocks the way. For years we have begged
that Guantánamo be fortified; but our request was always refused.”

“Why?”

“Ah, why? Why, in 1915, were we refused eighteen thousand men on the
active list that were absolutely necessary to man our ships? Why have we
practically no naval reserves? Why, in 1916, were the President’s
reasonable demands for naval preparedness refused by Congress? I will
tell you why! Because politics has been considered more than efficiency
in the handling of our navy. Vital needs have been neglected, so that a
show of economy could be made to the people and get their votes. Economy!
Good heavens! you see where it has brought us!”

On the morning of July 11, as I was breakfasting in the hotel with
Admiral Allyn, there was great excitement outside, and, going to the
piazza, we saw a large airship approaching rapidly from the northwest at
the height of about a mile. It was one of the non-rigid Parseval type,
evidently a German.

“A scout from the enemy’s fleet,” said Admiral Allyn.

“That means they are not far away?”

“Yes. They came through the Windward Passage three weeks ago, and have
been lying off Guantánamo ever since. We ought to have wireless reports
of them soon.”

As a matter of fact, before noon the wireless station at Santiago de Cuba
flashed the news that coasting steamers had reported German battleships
steaming slowly to the south, and a few hours later other wireless
reports informed us that the American fleet had been sighted off the
southern coast of Haiti.

The Admiral nodded grimly.

“The hour has struck. The German and American fleets will meet in these
waters somewhere between Guantánamo and Jamaica.”



CHAPTER XIII


THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLE OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA

In a flash my newspaper sense made me realise that this was an
extraordinary opportunity. The greatest naval battle in history was about
to be fought so near us that we might almost hear the big guns booming.
It would be worth thousands of pounds to the London _Times_ to have an
eye-witness account of this battle, and I resolved to turn the island of
Jamaica upside down in search of an aeroplane that would take me out to
sea.

The fates were certainly kind to me--or rather the British Consul
was efficient; and before night I had secured the use of a powerful
Burgess-Dunne aeroboat, the property of Vincent Astor; also Mr. Astor’s
skilful services as pilot, which he generously offered through his
interest in naval affairs and because of his desire to give the world
this first account of a sea battle observed from the sky.

We started the next morning, an hour after sunrise, flying to the north
straight across the island of Jamaica, and then out over the open sea. I
shall never forget the beauty of the scene that we looked down upon--the
tropical flowers and verdure of the rugged island, and the calmly smiling
purple waters surrounding it. We flew swiftly through the delicious air
at a height of half a mile, and in two hours we had covered a third of
the distance to Guantánamo and were out of sight of land.

At ten o’clock we turned to the right and steered for a column of smoke
that had appeared on the far horizon; and at half-past ten we were
circling over the American fleet as it steamed ahead slowly with fires
under all boilers and everything ready for full speed at an instant’s
notice.

As we approached the huge super-dreadnought _Pennsylvania_, flag-ship of
the American squadron, Mr. Astor unfurled the Stars and Stripes, and we
could hear the crews cheering as they waved back their greetings.

I should explain that we were able to converse easily, above the roar of
our propellers, by talking into telephone head-pieces.

“Look!” cried Astor. “Our ships are beginning a manoeuvre.”

The _Pennsylvania_, with red-and-white flags on her foremast, was
signalling to the fleet: “Prepare to engage the enemy.” We watched
eagerly as the great ships, stretching away for miles, turned slightly to
starboard and, with quickened engines, advanced in one long line of
battle.

At half-past eleven another smoke column appeared on our port bow, and
within half an hour we could make out enemy vessels on either hand.

“They’re coming on in two divisions, miles apart,” said Astor, studying
the two smoke columns with his glasses. “We’re headed right between
them.”

We flew ahead rapidly, and presently could clearly discern that the
vessels to starboard were large battleships and those to port were
destroyers.

At one o’clock the two fleets were about nineteen thousand yards apart
and were jockeying for positions. Suddenly four vessels detached
themselves from the German battleship line and steamed at high speed
across the head of the American column.

“What’s that? What are they doing?” asked Astor.

“Trying to cap our line and torpedo it. Admiral Togo did the same thing
against the Russians in the Yellow Sea. Admiral Fletcher is swinging his
line to port to block that move.”

“How do they know which way to manoeuvre? I don’t see any signals.”

“It’s done by radio from ship to ship. Look! They are forcing us to head
more to port. That gives them the advantage of sunlight. Ah!”

I pointed to the German line, where several puffs of smoke showed that
they had begun firing. Ten seconds later great geyser splashes rose from
the sea five hundred yards beyond the _Pennsylvania,_ and then we heard
the dull booming of the discharge. The battle had begun. I glanced at my
watch. It was half-past one.

_Boom! Boom! Boom!_ spoke the big German guns eight miles away; but we
always saw the splashes before we heard the sounds. Sometimes we could
see the twelve-inch shells curving through the air--big, black, clumsy
fellows.

Awe-struck, from our aeroplane, Astor and I looked down upon the American
dreadnoughts as they answered the enemy in kind, a whole line thundering
forth salvos that made the big guns flame out like monster torches, dull
red in rolling white clouds of smokeless powder. We could see the tense
faces of those brave men in the fire-control tops.

“See that!” I cried, as a shell struck so close to the _Arizona_, second
in line, that the “spotting” officers on the fire-control platform high
on her foremast were drenched with salt water.

I can give here only the main features of this great battle of the
Caribbean, which lasted five hours and a quarter and covered a water area
about thirty miles long and twenty miles wide. My plan of it, drawn with
red and black lines to represent movements of rival fleets, is a tangle
of loops and curves.

“Do you think there is any chance that it will be a drawn game?” said
Astor, pale with excitement.

“No,” I answered. “A battle like this is never a drawn game. It’s always
a fight to a finish.”

Our aeroboat behaved splendidly, in spite of a freshening trade-wind
breeze, and we circled lower for a better view of the battle which now
grew in fierceness as the fleets came to closer quarters. At one time we
dropped to within two thousand feet of the sea before Astor remembered
that our American flag made a tempting target for the German guns and
steered to a higher level.

“They don’t seem to fire at us, do they? I suppose they think we aren’t
worth bothering with,” he laughed.

As a matter of fact, not a single shot was fired at us during the entire
engagement.

I must say a word here regarding an adroit German manoeuvre early in the
battle by which the invaders turned an apparent inferiority in submarines
into a distinct advantage. The American fleet had thirty submarines
(these had been towed painfully around South America) while the Germans
had only five, but these five were large and speedy, built to travel with
the fleet under their own power and not fall behind. The thirty American
submarines, on the other hand, could not make over twelve knots an hour.
Consequently, when the German line suddenly quickened its pace to
twenty-five knots, Admiral Fletcher had to choose between abandoning his
underwater craft and allowing his fleet to be capped by the enemy; that
is, exposed to a raking fire with great danger from torpedoes. He decided
to abandon his submarines (all but one that had the necessary speed) and
thus he lost whatever assistance these vessels might have rendered, and
was obliged to fight with a single submarine against five, instead of
with thirty against five.

When I explained this manoeuvre to Mr. Astor he asked the natural
question why Admiral Fletcher had not foreseen this unfortunate issue and
left his burdensome submarines at Panama. I pointed out that these thirty
vessels had cost half a million dollars apiece and it was the admiral’s
duty to take care of them. It naturally was not his fault if Congress had
failed to give him submarines that were large enough and swift enough for
efficient fighting with the fleet.

Meantime the battle was booming on in two widely separated areas, the
battleships in one, the destroyers in the other.

Mr. Astor had held the wheel for five hours and, at my suggestion, he
retired to the comfortable little cabin and lay down for fifteen minutes,
leaving the aeroboat to soar in great slow circles under its admirable
automatic controls over the main battle area. When he returned he brought
hot coffee in a silver thermos bottle and some sandwiches, and we ate
these with keen relish, in spite of the battle beneath us.

The dreadnoughts had now closed in to eight thousand yards and the battle
was at the height of its fury, making a continuous roar, and forming five
miles of flaming tongues in a double line, darting out their messages of
hate and death.

As the afternoon wore on the wind strengthened from the northeast and I
realised the disadvantage of the American ships indicated by Admiral
Allyn, namely, that, being light of coal, they rode high in the sea and
rolled heavily. Unfortunately, the Germans had thirty battleships to
seventeen and this disparity was presently increased when the flotilla of
German destroyers, about eighty, after vanquishing their opponents,
swarmed against the hardpressed American line, attacking from the port
quarter under the lead of the four battle-cruisers so that the valiant
seventeen were practically surrounded.

In this storm of shells every ship was struck again and again and the
huge Pennsylvania, at the head of the column, seemed to be the target of
the whole German column. About three o’clock, as the flagship rolled far
over to port and exposed her starboard side, a twelve-inch shell caught
her below the armoured belt and smashed through into the engine-room,
where it exploded with terrific violence. The flagship immediately fell
behind, helpless, and Admiral Fletcher, badly wounded and realising that
his vessel was doomed, signalled to Admiral Mayo, on the _Arizona_,
second in line, to assume command of the fleet.

“Look!” cried Astor, suddenly, pointing to two black spots in the sea
about a thousand yards away.

“Periscopes,” said I.

At the same moment we saw two white trails swiftly moving along the
surface and converging on the _Pennsylvania_ with deadly precision.

“Torpedoes! They’re going to finish her!” murmured Astor, his hands
clenched tight, his eyes sick with pain.

There was a smothered explosion, then a thick column of water shot high
into the air, and a moment later there came another explosion as the
second torpedo found its target.

And now the great super-dreadnought _Pennsylvania_ was sinking into the
Caribbean with Admiral Fletcher aboard and seventeen hundred men. She
listed more and more, and, suddenly, sinking lower at the bows, she
submerged her great shoulders in the ocean and rolled her vast bulk
slowly to starboard until her dark keel line rose above the surface with
a green Niagara pouring over it.

For a long time the _Pennsylvania_ lay awash while the battle thundered
about her and scores of blue-jackets clambered over her rails from her
perpendicular decks and clung to her slippery sides. We could hear them
singing “Nancy Lee” as the waves broke over them.

“Are we afraid to die?” shouted one of the men, and I thrilled at the
answering chorus of voices, “No!”

Just before the final plunge we turned away. It was too horrible, and
Astor swung the aeroplane in a great curve so that we might not see the
last agonies of those brave men. When we looked back the flagship had
disappeared.

As we circled again over the spot where the _Pennsylvania_ went down we
were able to make out a few men clinging to fragments of wreckage and
calling for help.

“Do you see them? Do you hear them?” cried Astor, his face like chalk.
“We must save one of them. She’ll carry three if we throw over some of
our oil.”

This explains why we did not see the end of the battle of the Caribbean
and the complete destruction of the American fleet. We threw overboard a
hundred pounds of oil and started back to Kingston with a crippled engine
and a half-drowned lieutenant of the _Pennsylvania_ stretched on the
cabin floor. How we saved him is a miracle. One of our wings buckled when
we struck the water and I got a nasty clip from the propeller as I
dragged the man aboard; but, somehow, we did the thing and got home hours
later with one of the few survivors of Admiral Fletcher’s ill-fated
expedition.

I have no idea how I wrote my story that night; my head was throbbing
with pain and I was so weak I could scarcely hold my pencil, but somehow,
I cabled two columns to the London _Times_, and it went around the world
as the first description of a naval battle seen from an aeroplane. I did
not know until afterwards how much the Germans suffered. They really lost
about half their battleships, but the Americans lost everything.



CHAPTER XIV


PHILADELPHIA’S FIRST CITY TROOPS DIE IN DEFENCE OF THE LIBERTY BELL

I come now to the point in my narrative where I ceased to be merely a
reporter of stirring events, and began to play a small part that Fate had
reserved for me in this great international drama. Thank God, I was able
to be of service to stricken America, my own country that I have loved so
much, although, as correspondent of the London _Times_, it has been my
lot to spend years in foreign lands.

Obeying instructions from my paper, I hastened back to the United States,
where important events were pending. Von Hindenburg, after his Trenton
victory, had strangely delayed his advance against Philadelphia--we were
to learn the reason for this shortly--but, as we passed through Savannah,
we had news that the invading army was moving southward against General
Wood’s reconstructed line of defence that spread from Bristol on the
Delaware to Jenkintown to a point three miles below Norristown on the
Schuylkill.

The next morning we reached Richmond and here, I should explain, I said
good-bye to the rescued lieutenant, an attractive young fellow, Randolph
Ryerson, whose home was in Richmond, and whose sister, Miss Mary Ryerson,
a strikingly beautiful girl, had met us at Charleston the night before in
response to a telegram that her brother was coming and was ill. She
nursed him through the night in an uncomfortable stateroom and came to me
in the morning greatly disturbed about his condition. The young man had a
high fever, she said, and had raved for hours calling out a name, a
rather peculiar name--Widding--Widding--Lemuel A. Widding--over and over
again in his delirium.

I tried to reassure her and said laughingly that, as long as it was not a
woman’s name he was raving about, there was no ground for anxiety. She
gave me her address in Richmond and thanked me very sweetly for what I
had done. I must admit that for days I was haunted by that girl’s face
and by the glorious beauty of her eyes.

When we reached Washington we found that city in a panic over news of
another American defeat. Philadelphia had fallen and all communications
were cut off. Furthermore, a third force of Germans had landed in
Chesapeake Bay, which meant that the national capital was threatened by
two German armies. We now understood von Hindenburg’s deliberation.

In this emergency, Marshall Reid, brother-in-law of Lieutenant Dustin,
the crack aviator of the navy, who had been aboard the _Pennsylvania_,
volunteered to carry messages from the President to Philadelphia and to
bring back news. Reid himself was one of the best amateur flying men in
the country and he did me the honour to choose me as his companion.

We started late in the afternoon of August 17 in Mr. Reid’s swift Burgess
machine and made the distance in two hours. I shall never forget our
feelings as we circled over the City of Brotherly Love and looked down
upon wrecks of railroad bridges that lay across the Schuylkill. Shots
were fired at us from the aerodrome of the League Island Navy Yard; so we
flew on, searching for a safer landing place.

We tried to make the roof landing on the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel, but
the wind was too high and we finally chanced it among the maples of
Rittenhouse Square, after narrowly missing the sharp steeple of St.
Mark’s Church. Here, with a few bruises, we came to earth just in front
of the Rittenhouse Club and were assisted by Dr. J. William White, who
rushed out and did what he could to help us.

Five hours later, Reid started back to Washington with details of
reverses sent by military and city authorities that decided the
administration to move the seat of government to Chicago without delay.
He also carried from me (I remained in Philadelphia) a hastily written
despatch to be transmitted from Washington via Kingston to the London
_Times_, in which I summed up the situation on the basis of facts given
me by my friend, Richard J. Beamish, owner of the Philadelphia _Press_,
my conclusion being that the American cause was lost. And I included
other valuable information gleaned from reporter friends of mine on the
_North American_ and the _Bulletin_. I even ventured a prophecy that the
United States would sue for peace within ten days.

“What were General Wood’s losses in the battle of Philadelphia?” I asked
Beamish.

“Terribly heavy--nearly half of his army in killed, wounded and
prisoners. What could we do? Von Hindenburg outnumbered us from two to
one and we were short of ammunition, artillery, horses, aeroplanes,
everything.”

“Who blew up those railroad bridges and cut the wires?”

“German spies--there are a lot of them here. They sank a barge loaded
with bricks in the Schuylkill just above its joining with the Delaware
and blocked the channel so that ten battleships in the naval basin at
League Island couldn’t get out.”

“What became of the battleships?”

“Commandant Price opened their valves and sank them in the basin.”

“And the American army, where is it now?” I asked.

“They’ve retreated south of the Brandywine--what’s left of them. Our new
line is entrenching from Chester to Upland to Westchester with our right
flank on the Delaware; but what’s the use?”

So crushing was the supremacy of the invaders that there was no further
thought of resistance in Philadelphia. The German army was encamped in
Fairmount Park and it was known that, at the first sign of revolt, German
siege-guns on the historic heights of Wissahickon and Chestnut Hill would
destroy the City Hall with its great tower bearing the statue of William
Penn and the massive grey pile of Drexel and Company’s banking house at
the corner of Fifth and Chestnut streets. Von Hindenburg had announced
this, also that he did not consider it necessary to take hostages.

There was one act of resistance, however, when the enemy entered
Philadelphia that must live among deeds of desperate heroism.

As the German hosts marched down Chestnut Street they came to
Independence Hall and here, blocking the way on their sorrel horses with
two white mounted trumpeters, was the First City Troop, sixty-five men
under Captain J. Franklin McFadden, in their black coats and white
doeskin riding-breeches, in the black helmets with raccoon skin plumes,
in their odd-shaped riding boots high over the knee, all as in
Revolutionary days--here they were drawn up before the statue of George
Washington and the home of the Liberty Bell, resolved to die here,
fighting as well as they could for these things that were sacred. And
they did die, most of them, or fell wounded before a single one of the
enemy set foot inside of Independence Hall.

Here is the list of heroes who offered their lives for the cause of
liberty:

Captain J. Franklin McFadden, First Lieutenant George C. Thayer, Second
Lieutenant John Conyngham Stevens, First Sergeant Thomas Cadwalader,
Second Sergeant (Quartermaster) Benjamin West Frazier, Third Sergeant
George Joyce Sewell, William B. Churchman, Richard M. Philler, F. Wilson
Prichett, Clarence H. Clark, Joseph W. Lewis, Edward D. Page, Richard
Tilghman, Edward D. Toland, Jr., McCall Keating, Robert P. Frazier,
Alexander Cadwalader, Morris W. Stroud, George Brooke, 3d, Charles
Poultney Davis, Saunders L. Meade, Cooper Howell, C. W. Henry, Edmund
Thayer, Harry C. Yarrow, Jr., Alexander C. Yarnall, Louis Rodman Page,
Jr., George Gordon Meade, Pierson Pierce, Andrew Porter, Richard H.
R. Toland, John B. Thayer, West Frazier, John Frazer, P. P. Chrystie,
Albert L. Smith, William W. Bodine, Henry D. Beylard, Effingham Buckley
Morris, Austin G. Maury, John P. Hollingsworth, Rulon Miller, Harold M.
Willcox, Charles Wharton, Howard York, Robert Gilpin Irvin, J. Keating
Willcox, William Watkins, Jr., Harry Ingersoll, Russell Thayer, Fitz
Eugene Dixon, Percy C. Madeira, Jr., Marmaduke Tilden, Jr., H. Harrison
Smith, C. Howard Clark, Jr., Richard McCall Elliot, Jr., George Harrison
Frazier, Jr., Oliver Eton Cromwell, Richard Harte, D. Reeves Henry, Henry
H. Houston, Charles J. Ingersoll.

It grieved me when I visited the quaint little house on Arch Street with
its gabled window and wooden blinds, where Betsey Ross made the first
flag of the United States of America, to find a German banner in place of
the accustomed thirteen white stars on their square of blue. And again,
when I stood beside Benjamin Franklin’s grave in Christ Church Cemetery,
I was shocked to see a German flag marking this honoured resting-place.
“Benjamin and Deborah, 1790,” was the deeply graven words and, beside
them under a kindly elm, the battered headstone of their little
four-year-old son, “Francis F.--A delight to all who knew him.” Then a
German flag!

I began to wonder why we had not learned a lesson from England’s
lamentable showing in 1915. What good did all our wealth do us now? It
would be taken from us--had not the Germans already levied an indemnity
of four hundred millions upon Philadelphia? And seized the Baldwin
locomotive works, the greatest in the world, employing 16,000 men? And
the Cramp shipbuilding yards? And the terminus at Point Breeze down the
river of the great Standard Oil Company’s pipe line with enormous oil
supplies?

Philadelphians realised all this when it was too late. They knew
that ten thousand American soldiers, killed in battle, were lying in
fresh-made graves. They knew that the Philadelphia Hospital and the
University of Pennsylvania Hospital and the commercial museum buildings
nearby that had been changed into hospitals could scarcely provide beds
and nurses for wounded American soldiers. And yet, “What can we do?” said
Mayor George H. Earle, Jr., to me. “New York City resisted, and you know
what happened. Boston rioted, and she had her lesson. No! Philadelphia
will not resist. Besides, read this.”

He showed me a message just arrived from Washington saying that the
United States was about to sue for peace.

The next day we had news that a truce had been declared and immediately
negotiations began between Chicago and Berlin, regarding a peace
conference, it being finally decided that this should take place at Mt.
Vernon, in the historic home of George Washington, sessions to begin
early in September, in order to allow time for the arrival of delegates
from Germany.



CHAPTER XV


THRILLING INCIDENT AT WANAMAKER’S STORE WHEN GERMANS DISHONOUR AMERICAN
FLAG

During these peace preliminaries Philadelphia accepted her fate with
cheerful philosophy. In 1777 she had entertained British conquerors, now
she entertained the Germans. An up-to-date _meschianza_ was organised, as
in Revolutionary days, at the magnificent estate “Druim Moir” of Samuel
F. Houston in Chestnut Hill, with all the old features reproduced, the
pageant, the tournament of Knights Templars and the games, German
officers competing in the latter.

In polo an American team composed of William H. T. Huhn, Victor C.
Mather, Alexander Brown and Mitchell Rosengarten played against a crack
team of German cavalry officers and beat them easily.

In lawn tennis the American champion, Richard Norris Williams, beat
Lieutenant Froitzheim, a famous German player and a friend of the Crown
Prince, in straight sets, the lieutenant being penalised for foot
faulting by the referee, Eddie von Friesen, a wearer of the iron cross,
although his mother was a Philadelphia woman.

Thirty thousand German soldiers crowded Shibe Park daily to watch the
series of exhibition contests between the Athletics and the Cincinnati
Reds, both teams being among the first civilians captured on the victors’
entrance into Philadelphia. The Reds, composed almost entirely of
Germans, owned by Garry Hermann and managed by Herzog, were of course the
favourites over the Irish-American cohorts of Cornelius McGillicuddy; but
the Athletics won the series in a deciding game that will never be
forgotten. The dramatic moment came in the ninth inning, with the bases
full, when the famous Frenchman, Napoleon Lajoie, pinch-hitting for
Baker, advanced to the plate and knocked the ball far over Von Kolnitz’s
head for a home run and the game.

Another interesting affair was a dinner given to German officers by
editors of the _Saturday Evening Post_, on the tenth floor of the Curtis
Building, the menu comprising characteristic Philadelphia dishes, such as
pepper pot soup with a dash of sherry, and scrapple with fishhouse punch.
Various writers were present, and there were dramatic meetings between
American war correspondents and Prussian generals who had put them in
jail in the 1915 campaign. I noticed a certain coldness on the part of
Richard Harding Davis toward a young Bavarian lieutenant who, in Northern
France, had conceived the amiable purpose of running Mr. Davis through
the ribs with a bayonet; but Irvin S. Cobb was more forgiving and drank
clover club cocktails to the health of a burly colonel who had ordered
him shot as a spy and graciously explained the proper way of eating
catfish and waffles.

The Crown Prince was greatly interested when informed by Owen Wister that
these excellent dishes were of German origin, having been brought to
America by the Hessians in Revolutionary days and preserved by their
descendants, such families as the Fows and the Faunces, who still
occupied a part of Northeastern Philadelphia known as Fishtown. His
Imperial Highness also had an animated discussion with Joseph A.
Steinmetz, President of the Aero Club of Pennsylvania, as to the
effectiveness of the Steinmetz pendant hook bomb Zeppelin destroyer.

The German officers enjoyed these days immensely and made themselves at
home in the principal hotels, paying scrupulously for their
accommodations. General von Hindenburg stopped at the Ritz-Carlton,
Admiral von Tirpitz at the Bellevue-Stratford and others at the Walton
and the Adelphia. Several Prussian generals established themselves at the
Continental Hotel because of their interest in the fact that Edward VII
of England stopped there when he was Prince of Wales, and they drew lots
for the privilege of sleeping in the historic bed that had been occupied
by an English sovereign.

The Crown Prince himself was domiciled with his staff in E. T.
Stotesbury’s fine mansion on Walnut Street. Every day he lunched at the
Racquet Club, now occupied by German officers, and played court tennis
with Dr. Alvin C. Kraenzlein, the famous University of Pennsylvania
athlete, whom he had met in Berlin when Kraenzlein was coaching the
German Olympic team for the 1916 contests that were postponed, owing to
the war, until 1920. He als

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